Henry woke up when the sun was already setting. But he didn't get up. He just lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind refusing to quiet despite his exhaustion. Felicity's words echoed in his head:
"Tomorrow, I'm removing this threat. Permanently."
The weight of it pressed down on him like a physical force. Something was going to be taken from him…something that had saved his life, something that was apparently dangerous enough to almost kill Emily, something he didn't even understand.
Is it really just a stress response? Henry wondered, turning onto his side. A defense mechanism from hitting my head?
But if that were true, why did it feel so… aware? Why did it have its own intent?
The questions churned in his mind, refusing to let him rest. He closed his eyes, trying to go back to sleep, but every time he started to drift off, he'd see Emily's terrified face and hear her broken voice.
Henry groaned and sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Sleep wasn't coming anymore.
He stood and walked to the bathroom, flipping on the light.
Maybe splashing some cold water on his face would help clear his head.
He turned on the faucet, cupped his hands under the stream, and brought the cold water to his face.
The shock of it was grounding.
He stared at his reflection, water dripping from his chin. He looked pale, exhausted, and utterly broken. He was about reaching for a towel when he finally noticed it.
His reflection in the mirror.
It was staring at him.
Not at him through him—but AT him. Like it was a separate person looking out through the glass.
Henry froze, a chill running down his spine.
His reflection's expression was wrong. It didn't match his at all.
Henry's own face was tired, confused, uncertain.
But the reflection… It was smiling.
And not a friendly smile.
It was a cold, knowing smile that didn't reach the eyes.
Henry took a step back in fear and confusion. "W-What…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
The reflection's smile widened. Then it spoke.
"Finally," the reflection said, its voice identical to Henry's but with a completely different cadence… it was sharper, colder, and more controlled. "I was wondering when you'd notice me."
Henry stumbled backward, his heart hammering against his ribs. He immediately who, or what this was. It was his other self. The second consciousness.
"No. No, this isn't—you're not real," he murmured to himself. "You're just a—"
"A what?" the reflection interrupted, tilting its head with almost mocking curiosity. "A stress response? A defense mechanism? A dissociative identity created from trauma?" It laughed darkly. "Is that what you were told? That I'm just some psychological construct your broken mind created?"
"Aren't you?" Henry's voice shook.
"No," the reflection said flatly. "I'm not."
Henry's breath came faster. His hands gripped the edge of the sink, needing something solid to hold onto. "Then what are you?"
"I'm the reason you're still alive," the reflection said simply. "I'm the part of you that knows how to survive. The part that doesn't freeze when a beast lunges at your throat. The part that can actually fight instead of flailing around like a newborn foal."
Henry tried to speak. "That's not—"
"Let me ask you something, Henry." The reflection leaned forward slightly, as if getting closer to the glass separating them. "Do stress-induced alter egos usually remember dying? Because I remember you getting us killed in our past life with this exact same bleeding-heart weakness. And you've already almost gotten us killed thrice in this new world."
Henry's breath hitched. The blood drained from his face. Past life? His mind scrambled to process the words. How could a split personality have memories of a past life? And why did it speak with such bitter, autonomous anger?
Henry's hands trembled. He was still in shock. "You were there. In my old life?"
The reflection chuckled. "Finally. He catches on."
Henry inhaled sharply, refusing to believe. "But how—why don't I remember you?"
"Because that's how I survived." The reflection's expression became hard, almost angry. "I stayed hidden. Buried. I only surfaced when I absolutely had to—when you were in danger, when your pathetic softness was about to get us killed. You're just that incapable."
Henry protested. "I'm not—"
"You ARE!" The reflection's voice rose, sharp and cutting. "You're weak, Henry. Soft and weak. You hesitate when you should act. You feel guilty when you should be ruthless. You act on impulse when you should act on logic. And that got us killed once already."
The words hit like a physical blow.
"The truck," Henry whispered. "That wasn't my fault. It just—"
"Yes it was! You died because you tried to play hero for a stranger." The reflection's voice dripped with contempt. "You chased that mugger into traffic. You froze when you should have evaded. You died scared and stupid and alone. And I—" its jaw clenched, "—I died with you because I couldn't take control fast enough."
Henry's legs felt weak. He leaned heavily against the sink. It was clear to him now that this other him wasn't just your average alter ego… it was more advanced, more complex. More alive.
"If you've been here the whole time, why didn't you do or say something?" he asked. "Why are you showing yourself now?"
"Because dying and being reborn into a new body changed things." The reflection's smile returned, though it held no warmth. "The connection between the mind and body is… looser here. More flexible. And when we got reincarnated into an already fractured mind, all I had to do was take control of it before you woke up in the pit, before you even knew you were in a new world."
Henry's mind raced. This couldn't be real. Even if his alter ego was with him in his past life, how did it get reincarnated? Since when could personality disorders follow you even in death, to another life? This had to be some kind of delusion, some manifestation of stress or—
"You're not crazy, Henry," the reflection said, as if reading his thoughts. "I'm real. I've always been real. I'm the part of you that your conscious mind rejected because I wasn't nice enough. Wasn't kind enough. Wasn't soft and weak and doomed to die young."
"I survived too y'know," Henry said defensively. "In my past life."
"You only survived because I've been watching your back." The reflection's expression hardened. "But I'm done watching. I'm done being the emergency backup plan that only gets called in when you've already fucked everything up."
Henry's heart pounded. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying it's time for a change." The reflection straightened, its posture shifting. "I've been watching for a while now. Assessing the threats of this world and how to handle them. When I took over out there, I was merely getting the hang of this new body. I wasn't trying to play hero… that's a You thing. I'm more of a survivor. And I will do whatever it takes to survive, even if it means killing spoilt white-haired bitches."
Henry shook his head. "What happened with Emily was an accident. You didn't have to take it that far." He said.
"You really are pathetic, aren't you? The reflection scoffed. "How can you be so trusting? Do you really think Felicity is unaware that you're not really her son? Do you really believe you're save in this house? Are you so blinded by affection that you cannot see the truth?!"
Henry tried to speak but his reflection wasn't finished.
"It's clear you don't know what you're doing," the reflection continued. "So here's what's gonna happen: You're going to sit this one out. Take a back seat. Let someone who actually knows how to survive take the wheel for a while."
"What? No!" Henry retorted. His voice was firm despite his fear. "This is my body. My life. You can't just come and tell me what to do."
"I can. And I will." The reflection's smile was sharp now, almost gleeful. "You think Felicity entering your mind tomorrow is the real threat? You think she can just waltz in here and 'remove' me?" It laughed. "I've been part of you since birth, Henry. I'm woven into every neuron, every synapse, every memory you have. You can't cut me out without cutting out pieces of yourself."
Henry clenched his fist. "Then what do you want?"
"Control." The reflection replied simply, its eyes glinted with something cold and calculating. "I want to be the one making decisions. I want to be the one who decides whether we fight or run, who lives or dies, what risks are worth taking."
Henry shook his head. "I can't let you do that," he said, forcing steel into his voice. "I won't let you take over."
The reflection smirked. "Perhaps you do not understand…" then its gaze turned cold. "I'm not asking for your permission."
Before Henry could react, his reflection's hand moved—and so did his own.
Then suddenly, his right hand shot up and clamped violently around his own throat.
Henry gasped, but the sound was choked off instantly. His own thumbs dug mercilessly into his windpipe, cutting off his airflow. He desperately tried to pull his hands away, his mind screaming at his muscles to stop, but it was like fighting a machine. He wasn't in control of his limbs anymore. The reflection was.
Henry stumbled backward, hitting the bathroom wall. He looked into the mirror, and the sight sent a wave of absolute, primal terror through him. His face was turning a blotchy red, his eyes wide and bulging with pure terror as he suffocated. But layered over that physical panic was a horrifying dissonance. Even as his body fought for oxygen, the corners of his mouth were pulled into an evil, maniacal smile. The alter ego was enjoying the struggle. It was smiling through Henry's suffocating face.
"This is your fault, Henry." The reflection's voice was calm, almost conversational, even as Henry's hand squeezed tighter. "You thought you were in control. You thought this body belongs to you and only you. But the truth is we're sharing it. We always have been. But right now?"
Henry's other hand came up, trying to pry his fingers loose, but they were locked in place, unyielding.
"Right now," the reflection continued, its smile widening into something manic, "I have total control."
Henry's vision began to blur. He couldn't breathe. His lungs burned, screaming for air that wouldn't come.
In the mirror, his reflection's expression was terrifyingly calm. Its eyes gleamed with cruel amusement, watching Henry suffocate with the detached interest of someone observing an experiment.
Henry's eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the cold bathroom tiles, plunging into total darkness.
....
For exactly sixty-three seconds, Henry's body remained slumped on the bathroom floor, completely motionless. His hand had finally released its grip on his throat, leaving angry red marks in the shape of fingers. The reflection in the mirror was already gone.
Then—
Henry's eyes snapped open. But they weren't Henry's eyes. The fear was gone. The uncertainty was gone. The softness was gone. The trembling, terrified boy who had collapsed moments ago was entirely gone.
The body sat up smoothly, no groaning, no hesitation, no lingering effects from oxygen deprivation. He rolled his neck, testing the range of motion with clinical precision. Then he stood, his movements fluid and controlled, and approached the mirror.
For a long moment, he simply stared at his reflection, studying every detail of the face it now wore.
"Well," he said quietly. "This will do."
His expression was dead. A cold, unreadable mask devoid of any warmth or hesitation. He leaned in closer to the glass, examining the face.
As he stared, the warm, familiar brown of Henry's irises began to shift. The color bled away, replaced rapidly by a striking, unnatural, and deeply piercing purple.
The reflection was perfect now.
A slow, chilling smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he admired his new, unrestrained form.
"Sweet dreams, Henry," he whispered to the silence of the room. "I will make sure we survive in this new world." Then, the smirk vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving nothing but a ruthless, predatory stare in the mirror.
"No matter what it takes."