Chapter Twenty Four

I stare at my reflection in the cracked mirror, the faint light from the hallway spilling over the edges, casting long shadows. My breath is uneven, shallow, like I’m suffocating under the weight of what I’ve become. The image staring back at me is distorted, like it’s not mine. My own face looks unfamiliar, twisted in the haze of a lifetime of lies.

I grit my teeth, my fingers twitching at my sides. Willow , I think, but it’s not her. Not really. It’s me. It’s always been me. I’ve become a stranger to myself. But there she is again, that girl who I used to protect. Willow .

She’s standing there, just behind me, in the reflection. I can almost feel the warmth of her breath on my neck, the soft touch of her hand on my shoulder, like she’s still here, like she’s not dead.

"I couldn’t save you," I whisper to the glass, my voice rough, like it hasn’t been used in years. "I couldn't protect you, and now I can’t let it go. I never could." My fingers clutch the edge of the sink, knuckles white.

I close my eyes, trying to block out the memories of her laughter, her bright eyes before they dimmed, before she was taken from me. By him. By Tyson .

The weight of her absence is crushing, but it’s not just that. It’s the truth, the horrible truth I’ve tried to bury beneath layers of rage and lies. I’ve spent years blaming him for her death, for my own brokenness. I blamed him for every nightmare, every tear that never stopped, every part of me that shattered when I found out she was gone.

But the truth... the truth stings like poison.

I’m not sure when it happened. When I became the villain in my own story. When I lost myself so completely that I could wear the mask of my sister. But here I am, staring at her face in my reflection, and it’s like I’ve turned into her. I took her place. I became Willow.

“You’re not dead,” I say aloud, my words echoing in the empty room. My voice cracks like I’m trying to convince myself. “I’m still here. I’m still protecting you.”

I can hear my own words spiraling, a twisted mantra in my head. The house, the cursed house, the folklore — it’s all part of the plan. It always was. I made it my plan, a way to undo all of the years of torment. Years of being erased. Years of pain.

Amir . His face haunts me. That damn face. It’s like looking at Tyson again, but it’s not him, it’s someone else, someone I can’t control. Every time I see him, my skin crawls. He’s nothing but a reminder of the past, of everything I couldn’t stop. Of the pain that Tyson caused me, Dad and Willow. Of the betrayal.

But Amir doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be hunted, to be hunted by your own mind, by a ghost that won’t leave.

I wasn’t supposed to be alive. I wasn’t supposed to be here. But I am. I survived, and I’ve built this life, this plan, around my hatred. I was supposed to vanish, but I couldn’t let go. I couldn’t forget what Tyson did, what he took from me.

Willow's death— her death —is a lie, just like everything else.

I swallow hard, my stomach turning. My hands are shaking, but I can’t stop them. I’ll fix this. I’ll finish it. It’s almost done. The house, the ring, the hallucinations I’ve fed Amir, the girl who looks like Willow— all of it . It's all my doing.

But the hardest part, the part that pulls me apart from the inside out, is the way I convinced myself that this was right. That I could take her place. That I could become the thing she was supposed to be: the protector. The one who would avenge her.

But in the process, I’ve become something worse than I ever feared. I’ve become a monster.

“Amir is going to pay,” I mutter, my voice low, but it’s not enough to calm the storm in my chest. “You’re going to pay. All of you.”

I take a deep breath, my fingers trembling as they grip the edge of the sink. The reflection staring back at me, the one that’s Willow and yet isn’t, feels like a judgment. Like I’m being torn apart by the person I used to be. But I can’t stop now.

I’ve already gone too far. There’s no turning back.

Willow...

I close my eyes, squeezing the tears that burn behind my eyelids.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the mirror. But even as I say it, I know it’s a lie.