The wind tore at Lottie's coat as she teetered on the rooftop's edge, arms flailing for balance that had already deserted her. Below, the city lights fractured into smears of gold and white. Time stretched—long enough for her to see Evelyn's face, that cold smile that sliced deeper than any blade.
"Goodbye, sister." Evelyn's voice was silk over steel, the faintest push sealing Lottie's fate.
"No—" Lottie had barely managed the word before the ground vanished beneath her. The icy air sliced across her skin as she plummeted, the scream tearing from her throat swallowed by the wind. Her arms reached instinctively for something—anything—but there was nothing. For a heartbeat, she was weightless. The rush of air filled her ears, roaring louder than her thoughts. Her heart surged, then stopped altogether.
Then—
Darkness slammed into her.
The world collapsed inward.
Thought unraveled, fluttering like petals from a dying rose, scattered into the void.
Cold.
Stillness.
Nothingness.
A blinding flash.
Lottie jolted upright, breath heaving, drenched in sweat. The sheets clung to her skin, damp and twisted like seaweed wrapped around her legs. Her heart battered her ribs, each beat a fist from within. She blinked rapidly into the dim room, disoriented and gasping, lungs burning for air that now came too thick and warm.
The sharp scent of laundry detergent clung to the fabric—cheap and floral, the exact kind her mother always bought in bulk. Her eyes adjusted slowly, making out the soft outlines of posters on the walls. Cheerleader tryouts. Science fair announcements. A faded boy band smiling down at her with plasticky grins.
Her hands trembled as she raised them, youthful fingers shaking under the moonlight spilling through her window.
"No," she whispered, voice raw, unfamiliar in her own ears. "I'm not… I was dead."
She lurched from the bed, limbs stiff and weak like a newborn foal. The plush carpet met her bare feet with a cold softness that felt both foreign and too familiar, anchoring her in place even as her mind reeled. She stumbled toward the mirror, knocking over a stack of notebooks with a loud thump. The sound snapped through the silence like a gunshot, and she froze, heart slamming against her ribcage.
The mirror caught her mid-sob.
It hit her like a punch to the gut—her reflection, smooth-faced, wide-eyed, and so painfully young. Fifteen. Not twenty-five. Her hair was longer, her cheeks rounder. There was a hint of softness in her jaw that betrayal had yet to chisel away.
"No," she croaked, stepping closer, her breath fogging the glass. The cool surface bit into her fingertips as she pressed them against it, desperate to find some flaw, some glitch, some sign that this was all a dream or a cruel hallucination. But the mirror didn't lie.
Her fingers traced the mirror's cracked edge—the same crack from the hairbrush accident she'd long forgotten. It split her face in two, like a line between life and after. Her reflection flickered, caught in that fracture, not just of glass—but of fate.
A sob ripped out of her throat, raw and animal. Memory surged, slamming into her like a rogue wave. Evelyn's delicate hand resting lightly on her shoulder—deceptively comforting. The venom laced in her voice. The soft shuffle of her shoe as she stepped forward. The sickening lurch of her body tipping over the edge. Concrete rushing to meet her. The last thing she saw—Evelyn's smile.
"No—no—" Lottie backed away from the mirror, shaking her head so violently her hair flew. She stumbled over the edge of the rug and crumpled to the floor. The impact knocked the wind from her lungs, but she didn't care. Her fists clenched in the thick carpet, digging in until her knuckles screamed.
Her chest heaved. Grief folded her in half, her shoulders shaking with each broken breath. Tears streamed freely now, soaking into the fibers beneath her. But beneath the grief—rage coiled, cold and electric, winding tighter with every tremor. A different kind of fire sparked behind her ribs.
She pressed her forehead to the floor, the carpet's softness at odds with the fury roaring inside her.
"Not again," she gasped, voice breaking. "I won't let her win again."
The sound of her own voice, hoarse and hollow, barely registered over the blood pounding in her ears. Her skin buzzed with a surreal awareness—like electricity crawling just beneath the surface. Every nerve was raw. Her breath hitched. She clung to the moment, to the overwhelming impossibility of it all. And still—something in her refused to look away.
Downstairs, muffled voices floated up: her parents' calm, composed conversation. Her father's low, even tone murmured about someone named Greg—something about shipping reports. Her mother's polite laugh followed, light and superficial as ever.
The clink of cutlery on china. The swish of a wine glass. It was all so… normal.
No hint of the storm that had shattered their family ten years later. No sign that they had just lost a daughter—only she hadn't died yet. Not anymore.
The realization pierced through her like an ice pick.
She'd been rewound.
Dropped back at the start of the game, handed the cards she hadn't known she was playing. This was her second chance.
Lottie pushed herself upright, palms still trembling. Her knuckles were white as she gripped the bedpost for balance. Her breath came ragged, chest rising and falling too fast as she stared at the room—the old bookshelf stacked with trinkets, the glittery dreamcatcher swinging slightly in the corner, her schoolbag slouched beside the desk.
Everything looked the same. But nothing was.
She crossed the room slowly, eyes scanning the familiar chaos. The posters mocked her, relics of a girl who had once been so blissfully blind. Her fingers curled into a fist as she passed the vanity—no makeup yet, just a scatter of lip gloss tubes and a half-used bottle of nail polish.
A hollow laugh clawed up her throat, jagged and wet. She let it spill out, hand flying to her mouth too late. It sounded wild, unhinged, like it belonged to someone else. Her legs buckled again, and she sank to the edge of the bed, burying her face in her hands.
The clock on her nightstand blinked 2:14 AM.
She stared at it, unblinking, as if willing it to anchor her in this impossible reality. But it ticked on, indifferent. Like it had every night before the world fell apart.
Her phone buzzed. Reflexively, she snatched it up. The soft glow hurt her eyes. No messages—just the usual wallpaper: a photo of her, Evelyn, and their parents at some boring gala years ago. Evelyn was smiling, radiant, arm looped possessively around Lottie's shoulder.
Lottie stared at the image until her vision blurred, then threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall with a dull thud and slid to the floor.
Her mouth was dry. Her tongue felt heavy. The taste of betrayal coated the back of her throat like ash.
She crawled across the room, not sure if she was searching for her phone or her sanity. Her hands shook as she grabbed the device, screen miraculously intact. She stared at her reflection again—this time in the black glass, her eyes wide and hollow.
This wasn't over. It had barely begun.
Hours blurred past.
Lottie sat cross-legged on the floor, wrapped in a blanket that did nothing to ease the cold gnawing at her bones. The glow of her phone cast ghost-light across her face. Her mind looped again and again—exam failures, Evelyn's manipulations, friendships that cracked and bled, the rooftop. The rooftop. The rooftop.
Fifteen. She was fifteen. And Evelyn had no idea what was coming.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the rug, nails digging into the fibers as if she could root herself into this fragile moment. Her legs had gone numb. Her back ached. But none of it mattered.
Every inch of her skin buzzed, nerves raw, breath sharp and shallow. Her heartbeat was a wild creature in her chest, pounding against its cage.
A sudden gust rattled the window, making her flinch. Her gaze darted to the glass, to the moonlight washing the room in pale silver. The faintest shimmer traced across the cracked mirror, as if the universe itself was winking back.
Lottie drew in a shaky breath, pressing her fists to her knees. She could feel the old panic lurking beneath the surface—the helpless girl, the discarded sister, the pawn in Evelyn's game. But alongside it, something new sparked. Something jagged and bright.
"I won't," she whispered to the darkness. Her voice trembled but didn't break. "You'll never see me coming."
Outside, dawn scraped pale light across the sky. The first birds sang thin, silver threads into the silence, delicate as spun glass. Lottie hauled herself up, legs stiff, heart raw but steady. She turned to the mirror one last time.
The cracked reflection caught her eye. Her own face stared back, eyes swollen from tears, hair wild, mouth set in a line so sharp it could cut glass. For a beat, she saw both selves layered there—the girl Evelyn had shaped, and the woman Evelyn had murdered.
"It's not over," she murmured, a fierce, razor-thin smile twisting her lips. "It's barely started."
Her reflection smiled back, sharp and wild.
A faint knock sounded against her doorframe, the softest creak of old wood. Lottie's breath hitched as she stiffened, shoulders tensing. But when she turned, it was only the house shifting, the walls settling in their bones. She exhaled slowly, the tension bleeding from her limbs in shaky waves.
Downstairs, the world was waking. The kettle hissed faintly, followed by the low hum of voices, the muted clatter of breakfast preparations. Sunlight stretched long fingers across her carpet, warming the tips of her bare toes. But in this room, in this fragile dawn, Lottie Hayes stood on the edge of a storm she was finally ready to command.
Her gaze flicked once more to the cracked mirror. Her fingers brushed the glass, cool and unyielding beneath her touch. A shiver traced her spine, not of fear—but of anticipation.
"Round two," she whispered, the words curling like smoke in the air. "Let's see who breaks first."
Her pulse slowed, breath evening out as she stepped back from the mirror. The carpet sighed softly beneath her feet, the world spinning just a little slower as the dawn light edged its way across her walls. Her fingers grazed the edge of her desk, trailing across old notebooks, half-filled journals, the detritus of a life half-lived.
Lottie closed her eyes, letting the cold resolve sink deeper into her bones.
She would not be the same girl this time. And Evelyn? Evelyn had no idea what kind of storm she had pulled back from the grave.