The fourth light moved again.
Mara watched it beneath the surface of the mirror.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
The first three remained fixed around the dark center.
The fourth drifted slowly across the glass.
Left.
Then right.
Then upward.
As though it were searching.
Elias raised his rifle.
“Step away from it.”
Mara didn’t move.
“Elias.”
“Mara.”
“Something is happening.”
“I know.”
“No.
I mean—look.”
The fourth light stopped.
It was directly between them.
For one impossible second, Mara had the strange sensation that the mirror wasn’t showing another world.
It was looking at her.
Then the light vanished.
The mirror returned to normal.
Mara’s reflection stood where Elias had been.
She stared.
“Elias?”
His voice came through faintly.
“Mara?”
She looked up.
The ruined station had returned.
Elias was still there.
His rifle was lowered now.
“What happened?”
“The connection almost failed.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Mara glanced at the black Aetherite sitting beside the cylinder.
The stone had gone completely dark.
“Maybe this.”
“Move it away.”
She did.
Nothing happened.
Elias exhaled.
“Good.”
Mara looked at him.
“You really don’t like that stone.”
“I don’t like things I don’t understand.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re talking to me.”
For a moment, Elias simply stared.
Then he laughed.
It was the first time Mara had heard him laugh properly.
It changed his face.
Made him look younger.
Less tired.
She found herself smiling.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“So were you.”
“I was not.”
“You were.”
“I was assessing the situation.”
“Of course.”
Mara crossed her arms.
“You’re annoying.”
“I’ve been told.”
“By whom?”
“Mostly people who survived.”
She laughed.
Then the humor faded.
“Elias.”
“Yes?”
“What was the fourth light?”
He looked at the mirror.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you think it was one of the numbers?”
“Maybe.”
“One through four.”
“Maybe.”
“You’re very committed to that word.”
“Because guessing gets people killed.”
Mara studied him.
“You’ve lost people.”
His expression changed.
The humor disappeared.
“Yes.”
“Recently?”
“No.”
The answer was quiet.
Mara didn’t press.
She understood enough to know when someone had closed a door.
Instead, she said, “Then we don’t guess.”
Elias looked at her.
“We investigate.”
He nodded.
“Carefully.”
“Very carefully.”
The next morning, Mara moved the black cylinder onto the kitchen table.
She had spent most of the night thinking about it.
The cylinder was roughly the size of a thermos.
Its surface was completely smooth except for the Meridian symbol.
There was no obvious opening.
No seam.
No button.
No hinge.
Nothing.
She tried twisting the ends.
Nothing.
She tried pressing the symbol.
Nothing.
She tapped it against the table.
Nothing.
She held it up to the light.
Nothing.
“You’re a very disappointing mystery.”
The cylinder remained silent.
Mara sighed.
She opened her grandfather’s notebook.
The handwriting was faded.
Some pages were almost impossible to read.
She turned through them carefully.
Survey measurements.
Property boundaries.
Weather records.
Crop yields.
Repair notes.
Then—
Meridian.
Mara stopped.
The page contained only three sentences.
The room must remain locked.
Below it:
Claire says the room must remain locked.
And beneath that:
She says it isn’t ours.
Mara turned the page.
Blank.
She turned another.
Nothing.
Then, at the bottom of a page several sheets later, she found a single sentence.
If the door opens, do not enter alone.
Mara stared at it.
Her grandfather’s handwriting was heavier than usual.
The pen had almost torn the paper.
She closed the notebook.
“No chance.”
She looked toward the stairs.
The locked room waited above.
Mara stood.
“Fine.”
She spent the next hour searching the house.
If her grandparents had known about the mirror, there had to be something else.
Old houses kept secrets.
Mara knew that better than most.
People hid things in walls.
Under floorboards.
Behind loose bricks.
Inside furniture.
Her grandfather had once hidden twenty dollars inside a broken clock because, according to him, “A thief will steal a wallet before he steals a clock.”
Mara checked the clock.
Nothing.
She checked the pantry.
Nothing.
The bedroom closets.
Nothing.
Then she noticed something strange.
The floorboards outside the mirror room.
Four boards.
Different wood.
Mara crouched.
She ran her fingers across them.
The boards were newer than the surrounding floor.
Not new.
Just newer.
She grabbed a screwdriver.
“Here goes nothing.”
The first board lifted easily.
Dust spilled out.
The second board came loose.
Then the third.
The fourth was stuck.
Mara worked the screwdriver underneath it.
It finally popped free.
Beneath the floor was a shallow cavity.
Inside sat an envelope.
Mara’s heart began beating faster.
She pulled it out.
The paper was yellowed.
Her grandfather’s handwriting was on the front.
For Claire.
Mara stared.
Claire was her grandmother.
She opened it.
Inside was a single sheet.
Only a few lines.
Claire,
If you’re reading this, then the mirror has opened again.
I was wrong to believe we could control it.
You were right.
It does not belong to us.
Whatever is on the other side is not our world.
Keep Mara away from the room.
If the connection ever returns, remember the four.
—Thomas
Mara stopped breathing.
The four.
Again.
She read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
Her hands were trembling.
“Mara?”
She jumped.
The voice came from upstairs.
Not Elias.
Her own voice.
She turned.
The hallway was empty.
“Mara.”
She backed toward the staircase.
It came again.
From the mirror room.
Her voice.
Exactly.
“Mara.”
She grabbed the letter and ran upstairs.
The mirror was glowing.
Not brightly.
Softly.
The glass had become silver.
Mara approached.
Her reflection appeared.
Then changed.
For a moment, she saw herself as an old woman.
Then as a child.
Then as someone she didn’t recognize.
The image flickered.
Finally, Elias appeared.
He looked worried.
“You disappeared.”
“I found something.”
“What?”
Mara held up the letter.
“My grandfather knew about the mirror.”
Elias’s face tightened.
“What did he say?”
She read it aloud.
When she finished, Elias remained silent.
“The four,” Mara said.
“Yes.”
“What does it mean?”
“I don’t know.”
She gave him a look.
“Don’t.”
“What?”
“Don’t say maybe.”
Elias almost smiled.
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Good.”
He looked at the letter again.
“Thomas knew the mirror could connect worlds.”
“Yes.”
“He knew about Veyra.”
“Apparently.”
“He knew something was dangerous.”
“Definitely.”
Elias moved closer.
“What else?”
Mara hesitated.
“There’s something about Claire.”
“Your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“He said she was right.”
“About what?”
“I don’t know.”
Mara lowered the letter.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“He told her to keep me away from the room.”
Elias stared at her.
“How old were you when your grandparents died?”
“Fourteen.”
“Did your grandmother ever mention the mirror?”
“Never.”
“Your grandfather?”
“Never.”
“Then why leave this?”
“I don’t know.”
Elias looked toward something outside his frame.
“Mara.”
“What?”
“I think you should hear this.”
He moved aside.
Behind him, a second person stood in the station.
A young man.
Thin.
Messy brown hair.
He carried a backpack nearly as large as himself.
He looked directly at Mara.
“Oh,” he said.
Elias sighed.
“Rowan.”
The young man waved.
“Hi.”
Mara blinked.
“Hi.”
Rowan looked at Elias.
“Is this the woman?”
Elias rubbed his forehead.
“Yes.”
“The mirror woman?”
“Yes.”
“The one who sends food?”
“Yes.”
Rowan smiled.
“Can she send more coffee?”
Mara laughed.
Elias closed his eyes.
“I told you not to ask.”
“I’m asking politely.”
Mara looked at Rowan.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-two.”
“Do you always ignore instructions?”
“Only the unnecessary ones.”
Elias gave him a flat look.
Rowan grinned.
Mara liked him immediately.
Which worried her.
People who smiled easily in Veyra probably had stories behind those smiles.
She looked at Elias.
“Who is he?”
“Scavenger.”
Rowan corrected him.
“Explorer.”
“Scavenger.”
“Resource specialist.”
“Thief.”
“That’s rude.”
“It’s accurate.”
Mara smiled.
“You two always like this?”
“No,” Rowan said.
“Yes,” Elias said.
They answered at the same time.
Mara laughed again.
For the first time since finding the mirror, the room didn’t feel completely frightening.
Almost ordinary.
Almost.
Then Rowan’s smile disappeared.
He looked toward the mirror.
“Wait.”
Elias turned.
“What?”
Rowan stepped closer.
“What’s that?”
Mara looked at the glass.
A faint line had appeared across its surface.
Not a crack.
A symbol.
Four small circles arranged around a central point.
Rowan’s face went pale.
“Elias.”
“I see it.”
“No.”
Rowan shook his head.
“You don’t understand.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen that symbol before.”
Mara’s stomach tightened.
“Where?”
Rowan looked at Elias.
Then at Mara.
“In the old city.”
“Which city?”
“The one nobody goes to.”
Elias’s expression hardened.
“Rowan.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
Rowan pointed at the mirror.
“That symbol was painted on the doors of the Meridian facilities.”
Mara slowly unfolded her grandfather’s letter again.
The words stared back at her.
Remember the four.
The mirror pulsed.
Once.
Twice.
Then a sound came from inside the glass.
Not a knock.
Not a voice.
A deep mechanical hum.
The four circles began to glow.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Then the center opened.
For less than a second, Mara saw something beyond the mirror.
Not Blackridge.
Not her house.
A vast underground chamber.
Four enormous doors stood around a circular platform.
Three were dark.
The fourth was open.
Something stood behind it.
Tall.
Motionless.
Watching.
The image vanished.
Mara stumbled backward.
Elias raised his rifle.
“What did you see?”
Mara couldn’t answer.
The mirror returned to normal.
Then, from somewhere deep beneath Whitmore House, came a single sound.
A heavy metallic click.
As if a lock had just opened.
Mara looked at Elias.
“Elias?”
His face was grim.
“Don’t go downstairs.”
Mara stared toward the floor.
“But there’s something beneath the house.”
“I know.”
“How?”
He looked at the letter in her hand.
“Because your grandfather wasn’t warning your grandmother about the mirror.”
Mara’s blood ran cold.
“What was he warning her about?”
Elias looked directly into her eyes.
“The door.”
END OF CHAPTER FOUR