Chapter Thirteen: Before the First Crack
Killian
He didn't remember deciding to sit down.
But suddenly, he was on the cold asphalt, breathing hard, staring at the broken lantern at his feet.
The flame was gone.
But something about it… lingered.
"You reacted to it," Killian muttered, looking up at the thing wearing Gibson's face. "Not fire. Not heat."
A pause.
"Something else."
The thing didn't answer.
But it didn't deny it either.
Killian leaned back slightly, eyes narrowing.
"Recognition," he said quietly.
A flicker.
Small.
But real.
"You've seen something like it before," Killian continued. "Or… something like me."
Silence stretched.
Then—
"You are not the first."
Killian's breath slowed.
"Yeah?"
The world around him dimmed slightly—
not physically…
but perceptually.
Like something was peeling back a layer.
"Then show me."
Memory
It wasn't a smooth transition.
It hit him.
A room.
Dark.
Familiar.
Younger.
Smaller.
Killian blinked—
but the memory didn't blur.
It sharpened.
A mirror stood in front of him.
Cracked slightly along the edges.
Old.
A child's voice.
His voice.
"Why are you looking at me like that…?"
The reflection didn't answer.
Because it wasn't matching him.
Just slightly.
A delay.
A hesitation.
A gap.
The child raised his hand.
The reflection followed—
late.
Killian's chest tightened in the present.
"No way…"
The Presence
"Pattern recognition begins early."
Killian (Present)
He stood up slowly.
"You've been watching longer than I thought."
"You noticed the inconsistency," it replied.
Killian laughed once.
Dry.
"So did Gibson."
Silence.
"Difference," the presence said.
"You questioned it."
A pause.
"He feared it."
Killian's eyes sharpened.
"And now?"
The thing tilted its head.
Perfectly this time.
"Now you are both useful."