Chapter 42 – The Mirror’s Edge
Chapter 42 – The Mirror’s Edge
---
The night air in Zurich was laced with cold calculation.
Damon stood alone in a warehouse district near the old shipping docks, every step echoing across wet cobblestones. The coordinates had led him to an abandoned textile factory with rusting metal gates and shattered skylights—forgotten by the city but not by its secrets.
He didn’t bring backup. No security detail. No gun.
Just a flick-knife tucked in his jacket, and his instincts, sharpened by betrayal.
A door creaked open ahead.
A figure stepped out.
Elian Hart.
Dressed in black, coat flaring like a crow’s wings, eyes calm and patient.
“You came,” Elian said, almost reverently.
“I’m here,” Damon replied. “Let’s not waste time.”
Elian smiled faintly. “It’s never about time. It’s about timing.”
Damon’s jaw tightened. “Who are you?”
“Someone who knows the you that you buried,” Elian said, stepping closer. “Someone who remembers the promise they made to you when you were still broken enough to believe in salvation.”
Damon’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a poetic way of saying you’re a stalker.”
“You’re not angry yet,” Elian noted. “That surprises me.”
“Oh, I’m seething,” Damon growled. “But I want answers more than I want your face rearranged.”
“Fair,” Elian said with a nod. “Then let me ask you something first. Do you ever feel like your memories don’t fit?”
Damon flinched—but just slightly.
“Like there’s a piece missing,” Elian continued. “A room you refuse to open. A boy locked inside.”
Damon took a step forward, voice low. “How do you know about that?”
Elian didn’t answer.
Instead, he handed Damon a small vial—liquid black as ink inside.
Damon stared at it.
“Take this,” Elian said. “It’ll unlock what they made you forget.”
Damon didn’t move. “You’re one of them.”
“I’m one of you,” Elian whispered. “We were in the same trial group, Damon. Only I didn’t resist.”
Damon’s face darkened. “What do you want?”
“To finish what they started.”
---
[A Few Blocks Away – Rooftop Surveillance Van]
Aurora sat in the back of a converted surveillance van, headphones on, eyes flicking between Damon’s tracker and the drone feed hovering above the warehouse.
Beside her, Celeste munched noisily on a croissant.
“This place smells like damp socks and poor decisions,” Celeste muttered.
“I told you not to eat that,” Aurora replied. “It’s been here since Paris.”
“Paris was a month ago,” Celeste said mid-chew. “Stale pastries build character.”
Aurora ignored her, zeroing in on the live audio.
“What’s Damon doing?” Celeste asked.
“Talking to a ghost,” Aurora murmured.
Celeste straightened, suddenly serious. “How do you want to play this?”
“We wait. If Damon gives a signal, we move.”
Celeste cracked her knuckles. “You ever think about how weird our lives are now?”
Aurora offered a tired smile. “Every morning.”
---
[Inside the Warehouse]
Elian led Damon into the factory’s cavernous interior—pillars of broken machines, spools of rotting fabric, shadows that breathed with their own rhythm.
“You were stronger than the rest,” Elian said. “You lasted longer. Even when they tried to erase you.”
Damon stopped walking. “You keep saying they. Who exactly?”
Elian’s voice dropped. “The one behind all of it. The one pulling strings through Elijah, through me. He has no face. No name.”
“Elijah answers to someone?”
Elian turned, face grave. “He worships someone.”
That silenced Damon.
“For years,” Elian continued, “this man has been collecting all of us. Those who were touched by the Echo experiments. Survivors. The fractured.”
“For what?”
“To build an army of ghosts. No fingerprints. No past. Just loyalty.”
Damon’s breath hitched.
“You were meant to lead us,” Elian added.
Damon stared. “And if I refuse?”
Elian’s smile returned, sad and soft. “Then we’ll bury you with the others who did.”
Damon stepped back, hand twitching toward his jacket.
“Don’t,” Elian warned. “There are snipers watching. You’re not untouchable tonight.”
“Good,” Damon said, coldly. “Let them try.”
---
[Rooftop – Moments Later]
Aurora’s eyes widened as the heat signatures flickered on-screen.
“Snipers,” she muttered. “Four of them.”
Celeste dropped her croissant. “Time to crash the party?”
Aurora’s fingers flew across the tablet. “Give me a diversion.”
Celeste grinned, opened a case of smoke drones. “You want flashy or terrifying?”
“Both.”
---
[Inside the Warehouse – Tension Peaks]
Damon’s hand was still on his knife, heartbeat steady but hot.
“Tell your snipers to back off,” he said.
Elian didn’t flinch. “They don’t answer to me.”
“That’s a shame,” Damon said—and threw the knife.
It struck the hanging light above Elian’s head, shattering glass everywhere. Darkness swallowed the room.
At that exact second, smoke erupted from the corners—plumes of purple fog curling like snakes.
Chaos.
Shots fired.
Damon dove behind a loom.
From the smoke, Celeste barreled through, dragging Damon to his feet.
“You always need rescuing at the most dramatic moments,” she grunted.
Aurora joined them seconds later, gun raised.
Elian was gone.
Only the sound of metal doors slamming shut echoed through the factory.
---
[Later – Safehouse, Again]
Damon sat shirtless at the edge of the bed, cleaning a graze on his ribs.
Aurora knelt in front of him, dabbing antiseptic on his skin.
“You didn’t tell me about the boy,” she said softly.
He looked away. “Because he’s not useful.”
“He’s part of you,” she said. “And I’m not afraid of him.”
He met her eyes. “I am.”
She leaned in, pressing her forehead to his.
“Then we’ll face him together.”
Silence wrapped around them, heavy with things unsaid.
Damon finally spoke. “That man—Elian. He’s not the top.”
Aurora nodded. “Then we find who is.”
“And then?” Damon asked.
Aurora’s voice was a whisper.
“Then we burn it all down.”
---
[Somewhere Deep Underground]
Elian knelt in a pitch-dark room, lit only by blue LED screens.
The faceless figure stood behind him—tall, gloved hands clasped.
“You failed,” the figure said.
“I connected with him,” Elian insisted. “He’s not stable.”
The figure approached, laying a hand on Elian’s shoulder.
“Don’t make this personal.”
“It already is.”
“You want to be him,” the voice said, soft with menace.
“I am him,” Elian whispered.
The hand clenched. “No. You’re the shadow. He’s the fire.”
The figure leaned in, close to Elian’s ear.
“But fire can still be smothered.”