*That night, James stares into a mirror shard and sees the beast's eyes reflected in his own. He confides in Mira that the whispers are getting worse—and they're not just speaking, they're showing him things. Mira is torn between compassion and fear, her loyalty strained.*
Part III: Beneath the Skin
Night settled in like smoke, and no one slept.
The camp sat in a hushed semicircle, silent but for the muted clinks of Lyssa cleaning her blade and the occasional low mutter from Toren, who scribbled furiously in a notebook by fireless light. Mira kept watch, perched on a rock with a dagger resting across her knees, but her eyes drifted often toward James.
He was alone at the edge of the creek bed, crouched near the water.
James turned over the mirror shard in his hands. It was a jagged piece, broken from some forgotten time, its edge dulled but its surface still clean. Toren had kept it for brewing—now James used it for something far crueler.
His reflection stared back at him—until it didn't.
The face shifted.
The eyes in the mirror became too wide, too dark, as if hollowed out by shadow. And behind them… that smile again. That *thing's* smile.
He dropped the shard. It landed flat on the dirt, unbroken, staring skyward.
"You seeing ghosts now?" Mira's voice came from behind, quiet, but with no warmth.
James didn't turn. "Only the ones I might've made."
She crouched beside him, arms folded. The firelight from the distant camp painted her face in gold and shadow. "You shouldn't be out here alone."
"I'm never alone anymore."
Mira looked at the shard. "Toren says the mind is the first thing the Void tries to crack. Gets in through memory. Through guilt."
James's laugh was short and bitter. "Then it picked the right prince."
He finally turned to look at her.
"I see it, Mira. Every time I close my eyes. Not just the beast. The—*things* behind it. Behind the veil. They want something. I can feel them like teeth pressing against the glass. And sometimes…"
"Sometimes what?"
He hesitated. Then, in a whisper: "Sometimes I want to let them in."
The words hung there, raw and cold.
Mira's face was unreadable. Her eyes were sharp, but not unkind. "You tell anyone else that?"
He shook his head.
"Good," she said. "Don't."
He blinked. "That's it? No threats? No dagger at my throat?"
Mira stood. "If I thought you'd lost control, you'd already be dead."
Her voice was calm. Steady. But she didn't walk away.
She looked down at him, something hard and vulnerable caught in her throat. "Just… don't make me choose between you and them, James."
His voice was barely audible. "I'm trying not to."
But the mirror shard lay between them, and in its glinting surface—
The reflection "smiled" again.