of the kitchen with dishes that danced and flew off their plates like birds.
Kallia couldn’t bear a life of quiet work. “What’s the other choice?”
That had been a few short years ago, enough time to change how she thought of the House. Of Jack and his presence, which held a power that called to her. A likeness that drew them together.
The kind that pulled at the strings between them, now guiding her to his chest until their bodies pressed. Heartbeats met.
Hers ran rapidly.
His, slow and taunting.
The low noon bells tolled heavily through the thick walls of the practice room. Kallia could barely hear them as her music changed. The air dipped under the new weight of a slow, dark melody—heavier stringed instruments, shrouding the room in nighttime even as daylight brightened the windows.
“Morning’s over, Kallia.” Jack spoke just above her ear.
She steadied her breath, stared at her palm now within his. Her fingers slender and bare; his, armored as if ready for war. It was unfair, the way he slid her hand to his neck, already leading her in a dance before they’d even moved.
Sometimes he’d join her in the practice room, just like this. Sweeping her into a dip, their chests flush and rumbling with surprised laughter. Raising her in a full lift easily as water holding her to the surface. She enjoyed when dance became a spontaneous language between them. But she hated how he would always lead, finding an upper hand wherever he could.
This time, it would be hers.
Kallia cocked her head. “Show me something new, then.”
It was unclear who moved first. Their steps never belonged to a formal dance of rules and manners. Theirs were born from the rhythm, impossible not to follow. To feel a thread pulling, pulling, pulling until there was hardly space in between. No room for compromise.
Jack’s eyes lit with purpose as he pressed forward. “Look in the mirror.” He nudged his chin to the closest panel. “What do you see?”
She saw the two of them in the practice room, close. Entwined. “Just us.”
“Are you so sure?”
Kallia blinked at her reflection.
Smoke filled the room. Gradual and sheer as a gray veil, until it swarmed and blackened the entire space. An omen spreading its wings. Bright orange flames splintered through the darkness. A flicker, before the smell. The heat.
Fire.
The blaze crackled in her ears, drowning out her thundering heart.
Get out. The warning sliced through her and she tried pulling away, but the flames encircled them. Trapped them—
The mirror cracked in veins across the panel surface.
“Enough, Kallia.”
Her breath hissed as she pulled back. Jack lifted her left palm up, thumb pressed to her wrist. “Your pulse is racing. You believed it.”
Kallia’s panic dropped cold. She turned from the broken mirror to the rest of the room—finding it unharmed, the air clear.
An illusion.
She swallowed down a hard knot. “You messed with my mind?”
“With the mirror,” he reassured. “What I see in the mirror is what you see, to a point. The objective pieces of the picture—the background, the floor, something as simple as a book in your hand—are easier to change than the mind. A basic illusion,” Jack clarified. “Prey on trivial details that don’t matter, and then make them matter for the viewer.”
“You could’ve warned me,” Kallia snapped. She could stand the teasing and taunting, for she fought back with her own tools every time. But actual tampering of the mind crossed a line. There was no honor in a power that snuck into heads and told them how to think. “I thought we weren’t doing those sorts of tricks.”
Jack’s smile fell. “Every trick is a manipulation, Kallia. Mirrors are merely another plane for it,” he said. “What you see in any reflection is a world unto itself, one you can believe in because what you see aligns with what you know surrounds you.”
“And it’s not?”
“Some mirrors are like windows designed to be more convincing than others. You should always approach them with care. Always think first before trusting your reflection.”
Kallia cocked her head. “If you haven’t noticed, we have no shortage of mirrors.”
He rubbed his thumb slyly beneath her palm as he guided them back to the center of the room. “Don’t worry, firecrown, my mirrors are harmless.”
His voice softened under a pleased laugh, but Kallia couldn’t find it in her to join him. What was the point of giving her a glimmer of the dangers outside the House if she would never encounter them? To keep sharpening the blades, but never use