Arin woke before dawn.
Not because of a sound.
Because of silence.
The kind of silence that feels wrong — like the world is holding its breath. His room was darker than it should've been. The streetlight outside his window flickered weakly, its glow struggling to exist.
He sat up slowly.
The air felt heavier.
Thicker.
Like something invisible had filled the space around him.
Then he remembered.
The crack.
He rushed to the window.
It was still there.
But now… it wasn't just a crack.
It was glowing.
A faint silver light ran through it, spreading across the sky like veins beneath skin. The darkness around it pulsed gently, as if the sky itself had a heartbeat.
Arin pressed his hand against the glass.
And the crack pulsed again.
This time—
Something moved behind it.
He froze.
At first, he thought it was a cloud shifting.
But clouds don't move like that.
Clouds don't stop suddenly when you notice them.
Clouds don't slowly turn toward you.
The shape behind the fracture twisted unnaturally, its outline stretching too far in some places and folding inward in others. It didn't have a fixed form. It was like smoke trying to become something solid.
And it was looking straight at him.
Arin stumbled back from the window.
His chest tightened, breaths coming in short bursts. The silver glow from the crack grew brighter, leaking into the darkness around it.
Then—
A sound reached him.
Not from outside.
From inside his room.
A faint tapping.
Behind him.
Arin turned slowly.
His mirror was vibrating.
Softly.
Tiny ripples ran across its surface like water disturbed by a drop. The reflection of his room warped — bending at impossible angles for a split second before snapping back.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
The mirror bulged outward.
As if something on the other side was pressing against it.
Arin couldn't move.
A handprint appeared on the glass.
From inside.
Long fingers.
Too long.
The surface cracked slightly beneath the pressure — not shattering, just… stretching. Like the mirror was becoming soft.
And then the reflection blinked.
Arin didn't.
But the reflection did.
Its eyes shifted a fraction too late.
Its head tilted slowly to the side.
Studying him.
The tapping stopped.
The handprint faded.
And the mirror became still again.
Outside, the crack in the sky pulsed one more time — brighter than before.
Arin's phone buzzed on the table beside him.
He didn't remember picking it up.
But it was in his hand now.
The screen was on.
No notifications.
No messages.
Just one line of text across the center.
WE SEE YOU TOO
And above him—
The cracked sky widened.