Demon Contract

The corridors above the Forge felt wrong the moment they stepped back into them. The air carried a faint metallic tang, as though the whole Institute had been breathing through a furnace. Alarms hummed distantly, somewhere deeper in the structure, a steady vibration in the bones rather than a sharp warning. Yet here, on this level, there was nothing. No staff rushing past, no guards posted at junctions, no one at all.

Their footsteps echoed far too loudly against the polished floors.

Chloe stayed close to Alyssa, her eyes flicking between the mirrored walls that lined either side. She hated how they seemed to stretch further than the corridor itself, as though they were walking through two buildings at once: the solid one beneath their boots, and the warped, silent twin that stalked them from the glass.

Dan kept himself slightly ahead, shoulders squared, one hand hovering near his weapon. His calm wasn't convincing anymore. She'd spent too long reading the subtle lines at the corners of his eyes to miss the strain there.

"This isn't right," Alyssa muttered, voice low but sharp. "Where the hell is everyone? Feels like we're the only ones left."

Chloe wanted to disagree, but she couldn't. She felt the same. Every junction they passed, every branching corridor stood empty, doors locked or left slightly ajar, sterile light spilling out on deserted rooms. No voices. No movement.

Dan finally answered, quiet and steady: "The evac protocols might've started. If so, the Institute staff would head for rally points."

"But we didn't pass anyone," Alyssa shot back. "And if people were running, we'd hear them. You can't tell me this place clears out in silence."

Chloe rubbed her arms. Gooseflesh prickled along her skin even though the air wasn't cold. "Maybe…" she hesitated, eyes dragging toward the glass, "…maybe they didn't leave at all."

The thought had come unbidden, but once spoken, it refused to leave.

Dan slowed a fraction, enough that both sisters nearly walked into him. He didn't look at her, didn't look at Alyssa either — his eyes were on the mirrored surface ahead.

Chloe followed his gaze and saw it.

Their reflections walked a half-step behind, their lips moving too slow, too deliberate. Chloe stopped breathing.

"Don't," Dan said, almost a whisper, "let it get in your head. Keep moving."

But even as he spoke, Chloe caught the twitch of movement where there shouldn't have been any. One of the mirrored Dans smiled. Only in the glass.

Her stomach tightened.

They moved on, silence heavy around them, until they reached the next junction. The corridor curved, glass walls bowing outward in an elegant arc meant to show off the Institute's design. In any other moment, Chloe might have found it beautiful but here, under the failing lights, the curve only made her dizzy, as though the building itself had warped.

That was when she saw it.

A smear of red dragged across the glass wall. Thick, wet.

Blood.

Her chest locked. She stopped so abruptly Alyssa bumped into her side.

"Chloe?"

She raised a hand, pointing.

The blood stretched almost the height of a man, long streaks that looked as though someone had been pressed against the wall, struggling, sliding downward. But the floor beneath it was clean. No body or any sign someone had fallen.

Just the reflection.

Because in the mirrored corridor opposite, the smear still glistened fresh but there, a figure leaned against it, half-shadowed, head tilted toward them. A man. His features obscured, his mouth curved upward in the faintest smile.

Chloe's heart stuttered.

Alyssa swore under her breath, taking an instinctive step back. "Nope. No way. We're not doing that."

Dan lifted his arm, pushing them both gently behind him. He didn't reach for his weapon this time. He knew, as Chloe did, that bullets meant nothing against glass that bled.

The figure in the reflection straightened slowly, deliberately. Then it raised a hand — not to wave, not to threaten — but to press its palm against the other side of the glass.

Chloe couldn't move.

Her own reflection mimicked the motion, her palm sliding up as if compelled.

And then the lights flickered. For a heartbeat, the corridor was plunged into darkness. When the glow returned, the smear was gone.

The glass stood empty.

Only their reflections remained, staring back at them.

But Chloe knew they hadn't been alone. Not anymore.

***

The smell of scorched wires hit him before they turned the corner. Acrid, sharp, the kind that caught at the back of the throat. Dan motioned for the sisters to stay close as they stepped into Diagnostics.

The wide chamber was lit in stuttering pulses. Screens along the walls buzzed and flickered, half of them showing static, the other half stretched with warped images of corridors that didn't look quite real. A handful of Institute staff were scattered near the consoles, huddled together in small groups like survivors waiting for a lifeboat that would never come.

Every head turned as he entered.

"Jaeger's people," one of them spat, his voice jagged with panic. "It's you. You let it out."

Dan stopped in the middle of the floor, palms held out, his body language open. He'd been in emergency wards, triage centres, and refugee camps. Panic had its own smell, its own weight. These people were already halfway to breaking. "Nobody here wanted this breach," he said, voice level. "We're all in the same mess now."

The man's hands trembled as he pointed at Chloe. "It was watching you. It was staring at you even before the cage cracked."

Chloe froze, colour draining from her face. Alyssa immediately stepped in front of her sister, chin up, eyes sharp. "Say that again and I'll break your face."

That only made the room buzz louder. Murmurs flared. Fear fed fear. Someone muttered about evacuation. Another said it was already too late, that the glass was crawling with things.

Dan cut through the noise, forcing strength into his tone. "Listen to me. Panicking will only feed it. You want to live? Then keep your head straight and your eyes sharp. Let's stay together."

But he could see it — none of them wanted to hear reason.

One of the younger techs near the far console snapped. His breath came fast, his eyes wide, his skin slick with sweat. "No. No, it's already here!" He turned on the panel in front of him, fists hammering at the mirrored glass of its screen. "We have to smash it, break them all, that's the only way—"

The mirror cracked, but before the shards fell, his reflection moved.

It reached through.

Hands of silver clamped over his arms and shoulders, pulling him forward as though the glass was water. His scream ripped through the chamber as he was dragged inside, his body folding into the surface with a sickening elasticity.

The screen went dark.

Only blood remained, smeared across the glass where his reflection had vanished.

The room erupted. People screamed, bolting in every direction. Some fled for the doors, some pressed themselves against the walls as though distance from the mirrors would save them.

Alyssa swore and pulled Chloe back, her own face pale beneath the bravado. "Yeah, that's comforting. Real good morale boost Dan."

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Dan forced himself to move forward, to plant himself between the sisters and the panicking survivors. His heart was pounding, but he kept his voice steady, because if it cracked, everything else would too. "Everyone calm down! It's not going to stop because you run!"

But his words were drowned under the chaos.

He caught a glimpse of Chloe, her expression twisted not just with fear but with guilt. He knew that look. He'd seen it before in patients who believed their illness had dragged everyone else down.

"It's not your fault," he said quietly, just for her. She flinched at the sound, but she heard him.

The floor shuddered. The mirrored walls flickered, showing the survivors' reflections not as they were — but as corpses, faces bloodless, mouths frozen in screams.

Dan's stomach turned cold.

The Mirror wasn't just loose. It was spreading.

***

Alyssa shoved against Chloe's back, keeping them together as bodies crashed past. For every person they saw, three more flickered in the glass — copies screaming, bleeding, or grinning. Chloe realised with a cold twist that the Mirror wasn't chasing them. It was spreading, and every terrified step the survivors took only gave it more ground.

She kept her back pressed against Alyssa's, both of them trying to push through the tide of bodies. Dan shouted for order, but no one listened. Everyone was too busy running from their own shadows.

And there were plenty of shadows to run from.

The mirrored walls didn't just reflect anymore. They bent. Doubled. Chloe glimpsed three versions of the same man sprinting side by side, all with the same desperate face, until one turned its head toward her and grinned before melting back into the glass. Another survivor's reflection lagged behind by a few steps, its throat already slit open.

The air grew hotter, oppressive, the metallic tang stinging her nostrils. Every light flicker stretched the reflections longer, as though the walls themselves were trying to swallow the people who ran past.

"Chloe, this way!" Alyssa grabbed her wrist, dragging her out of the stream of bodies and into a side hall. Her sister's hand was hot, slick with sweat.

They pressed into the alcove, the noise of panicked survivors echoing past. Chloe tried to breathe, but every intake carried the sharp stink of fear. It clung to her skin like smoke.

"This isn't working," Alyssa spat, voice ragged. "This is handing it exactly what it wants. We need to fight!"

Chloe swallowed. "It's feeding."

Alyssa whipped toward her. "What?"

She gestured weakly at the corridor, at the chaos spiralling down both ends. "The more confused everyone gets, the stronger it feels. It doesn't need to kill them all — it just needs them scared."

Alyssa's jaw clenched. She turned away, fists tight at her sides. "Great. And you're what? Its favourite snack? Because it sure as hell keeps staring at you."

The words cut sharper than Chloe expected. She opened her mouth, but nothing came.

Dan stepped between them before it could get worse, his voice firm. "Not now. Don't give it what it wants." His eyes darted to Chloe, softer for a heartbeat. "Stay with me. Both of you."

The floor trembled under their feet. The mirrored walls rippled like disturbed water. For an instant Chloe saw her own face there, warped and sneering.

Her chest tightened.

They moved again, hugging close to the walls, trying to push deeper into the Institute, away from the chaos. But the further they went, the stranger it became. Empty corridors stretched too long. Doors that should have led to familiar labs opened onto blank mirrored chambers. Chloe's head spun, disoriented, as though the building itself had been rewritten while they weren't looking.

Then the intercom crackled.

Every speaker along the ceiling hissed to life. At first it was only static, but then a voice broke through, thin and wavering.

Her voice.

Liz.

"Chloe?"

Chloe froze. Her stomach turned to ice.

It wasn't a distorted imitation. It wasn't a scream or a whisper dragged from memory. It was Liz's voice, exactly as she remembered — soft but reckless, the way she'd sounded when she and Chloe talked of the future.

"Chloe… I'm still here. Follow me."

Alyssa swore, grabbing her shoulder. "No. Don't listen. It's a trick."

Chloe wanted to believe her. She wanted to believe she was strong enough to ignore it. But her throat tightened, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes.

Because part of her wanted to run toward it.

Part of her wanted to believe it was true.

***

Dr. Grimm did not run. He did not raise his voice, or pace the command balcony like the younger staff who'd already broken ranks. He stood perfectly still, one hand resting on the rail, eyes moving across the cascade of screens flickering before him.

The surveillance grid was dying by degrees. Some feeds showed only static, others distorted corridors where the walls bled silver like a living wound. A few flickered back to order for seconds at a time, revealing screaming figures as the Mirror's tricks tore through the Institute's heart.

Grimm observed it all with the same calm he would bring to a cadaver on a slab.

"Director."

Omega's voice was tight, brittle. She stood at his left shoulder, fists clenched against the console. Alpha was at his right, her tone quieter but no less urgent.

"We need to evacuate," Omega pressed. "Containment's collapsed. If it breaches the upper wings, the Burrow is finished."

Alpha shook her head, her long braid swaying. "No. If we open those doors, if the public even catches a glimpse of what's walking our halls—" She gestured sharply at the screens, at the walls flexing like water. "—then we are finished. Secrets are the only containment we have left."

Grimm raised a hand. Both fell silent.

His gaze lingered on one feed longer than the rest: three figures in the Forge chamber, standing against the tide of mirrored doubles. The Blackthorn girl — Chloe. Her twin, Alyssa. And the medic, Daniel Bailey.

They had not broken.

He adjusted the angle of the feed with a slow turn of his wrist, studying them the way he would a new prototype. Alyssa was reckless, every punch driven by fury. Dan steadied her without even looking, his halo bleeding threads of light across the others. And Chloe — she wavered. She faltered. But she stood.

Interesting.

Alpha leaned forward. "Director, they'll all die if they stay in there."

Grimm's mouth quirked at the edge, not quite a smile. "Perhaps. Or perhaps we learn how far the Mirror reaches when pressed. A rare opportunity."

Omega's eyes widened. "You'd risk the Institute—"

"I risk nothing," Grimm said, calm as a scalpel. "I observe. If they survive, we have proof of their value. If they die, then the Mirror shows its hand. Either outcome serves us."

He folded his hands behind his back, eyes never leaving the screen.

"They are not ours," he continued softly, almost to himself. "And yet… they may be the only pieces on the board with any freedom left."

For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the hum of dying electronics.

Then the feed twitched.

Chloe's face turned toward the camera. Not the Chloe in the chamber — but the one on Grimm's screen.

Her lips curled upward, baring a smile that was all wrong.

Grimm's eyes narrowed. He tapped the console to rewind, to confirm, but the feed stuttered. Every replay showed the same loop: Chloe staring directly into the lens, smiling. Smiling. Smiling. Eerily smiling.

Omega stumbled back from the console. "It's in the system."

Alpha's knuckles whitened against the rail. "Director—"

Grimm did not move. He simply watched as the screen fractured into a hundred mirrored shards, every fragment filled with faces that were not supposed to be there. Some his staff. Some the sisters. One, his own, split down the middle.

His voice was calm when he spoke.

"Let it run. We are still in control here. If the game escalates, we evacuate to Site B — the Fortress. If need be, I will take care of matters personally. For now…" He adjusted his cuffs, eyes still on the smiling Chloe. "…for now, I want to see what happens."

***

The hydroponic gardens were nothing like the sterile halls they had left behind. Here the air clung damp to Chloe's skin, thick with the smell of soil and stagnant water. Rows of glass tanks stretched into the dark, each one filled with plants suspended in liquid nutrient, each surface reflecting back their warped shapes. It was like walking through a hall of mirrors that breathed.

Her pulse thudded in her ears. Every step brought another flicker of movement in the glass — a grin where there shouldn't be, a reflection that lingered one heartbeat too long.

"Keep calm, stay together," Dan murmured, golden threads of his halo spilling from his palms. They curled out into the damp air like strands of light, brushing against Chloe's shoulders, against Alyssa's. They steadied her breathing, a warmth at the edge of panic.

Alyssa paced ahead, hands balled into fists, the faint warping of gravity bending the moisture around her knuckles. Droplets of condensation rolled inward toward her skin, orbiting her in slow spirals. "Feels like a trap," she muttered.

Chloe swallowed. "It is."

And then she heard it.

"Chloe."

Liz's voice. Clear, strong, echoing through the humid chamber.

She froze. Alyssa's arm shot out, barring her path. "Don't."

But the voice came again, softer this time, from the glass tanks themselves. "You let me go once. Don't do it again."

Chloe's throat closed. She couldn't stop herself from staring into the nearest panel of glass. For a moment, it wasn't warped or broken. It was Liz. Whole. Alive. No longer comatose. Her eyes warm, her expression pleading.

Alyssa swore under her breath. "That's not her. You know it's not her."

"I…" Chloe's chest ached. "I know." But her voice cracked, betraying her.

The water inside the tanks rippled. Reflections peeled free one after another, dripping silver as they stepped onto the floor. Faces twisted. Some half-formed, some perfect copies. One wore Dan's jaw, another Alyssa's grin, another her own terrified eyes.

Dan planted himself between them, golden aura blooming brighter, strands weaving into a barrier that made the glass walls flicker. "Stay close. They can't break us if we hold together."

The doubles rushed them.

Alyssa met the first head-on, her fist collapsing a reflection's chest inward as she bent gravity around her knuckles. The thing shrieked, its body imploding into liquid before reforming at her back. She spun, cursing, gravity dragging a tank's contents into a crashing wave that bowled three more away.

Chloe phased as one lunged at her, its claws passing through her ribs like knives made of ice. She solidified behind it, swinging her arm straight through its throat. The mirror-flesh cracked apart, scattering shards across the floor. Each shard twitched, writhing back toward the walls.

Dan anchored them both, golden threads wrapping around their wrists, keeping them tethered even as the doubles tried to pull them apart. Every time his aura flared, the reflections shrieked and stumbled, their whispers blunted. But his face was pale with strain, sweat beading across his brow.

Then the largest reflection stepped forward.

Liz.

Perfect, whole, her eyes no longer green but now silver-bright.

She didn't lunge. She didn't snarl. She only looked at Chloe and spoke in Liz's voice. "Come with me, Chloe. Or Alyssa dies."

Alyssa's scoff died in her throat as her body jerked upward. Invisible hands closed around her neck, dragging her off her feet. She clawed at the air, eyes bulging as her feet kicked helplessly above the ground.

"Alyssa!" Chloe screamed. She rushed forward, phasing halfway, but even in her ghost-form she felt the grip around her sister's throat shimmering in the air, unbreakable.

Dan bellowed, his halo blazing brighter, golden light searing across the garden. The silver reflections staggered, retreating a step — but not Liz. She only tightened her grip, Alyssa choking, her mouth opening and closing in silence.

"Choose," the reflection said, voice calm, almost kind. "Come with me… or watch her die."

Chloe's vision blurred with tears. Her hands shook as she reached for Alyssa — and for a heartbeat, she almost believed she was looking into her sister's real eyes, not the mirror's.

And then Alyssa's body went limp, her head falling forward as the invisible hands squeezed tighter.

"NO!" Chloe screamed, lunging —

— and the lights went out.

In the dark, Chloe thought she heard Alyssa's strangled breath cut off — and a silver laugh ripple through the black.