Chapter Text
The lights above us stutter, and for a moment, everything feels stretched thin, then a bolt of lightning claws the sky, the air outside splitting open with a teeth-rattling crack. The room jolts as if we're all puppets on invisible strings. My heart hammers against my ribs, and the hairs on my arms prickle at the charged silence that follows. Through the window, the world is overexposed to a silver flash, then the darkness swallows it whole, leaving behind only the metallic tang of ozone and damp earth.
"Perfect. Bloody perfect," I mutter. My bike waits somewhere out in that storm, but the thought of braving it makes my stomach clench. I should've left ages ago, before the evening turned, before Josh decided to play Gandalf with his weed stash, offering it around like he was distributing pipeweed to the Fellowship.
My gaze drifts toward Bailey, Lauren’s stepsister, curled up in one of the armchairs. The blue streaks in her black hair shimmer against the lamplight, lightning making them glow like the edge of a storm cloud. She is not usually one to join the crowd, and I wonder what brought her down from her room upstairs. She’s got her legs tucked beneath her and her nose buried in a book, completely unfazed by the chaos of the stoned, the drunk, and the rhythmically challenged currently occupying the living room.
A few shrieks pierce the air as another lightning bolt hits even closer. I’m pretty sure a couple of those screams belong to the guys. Outside, the storm goes full ‘Apocalypse Now’, rain turning the world into a smudged grey void. I catch a fleeting glimpse of my reflection in the window, oddly distorted, as if I’m someone else for a heartbeat. Bailey glances up, her eyes flickering toward the warped glass, unimpressed, then back to her book.
“What are you reading?” I sink into the armchair beside her, and she frowns at me before raising the book slightly so I can see the title.
“Fear Nothing. Dean Koontz. And here I thought you were reading something nerdy.”
The frown between her indigo eyebrows deepens. “What exactly makes a book nerdy?” she retorts.
I shrug. “I don’t know… maybe an autobiography of Einstein? Or something by George Orwell?”
She gives me that almost-smile that threatens to turn into a real one. “And how exactly is George Orwell nerdy?”
“I’ve read a few of his books,” I reply.
Her mock-shock is theatrical, but beneath it, I sense the genuine surprise. “The great Garrett Osmond, Olympic bronze medalist, national hero, destroyer of targets, is secretly a book nerd? I bet your adoring fans have no idea.” She gestures vaguely toward the dancing crowd, where someone is attempting a move that looks like a cross between twerking and a seizure.
I glance over. They are Josh and Lauren’s friends. I was only invited because Josh is my best friend for as long as I can remember.
When I turn back, her expression has softened. “They’re not your friends, are they?”
We lose track of time when our conversation turns to books, films, and other topics. Bailey laughs when I feign offence at being called a slacker. “Relax, I’m joking,” she says, grinning. “You get paid to shoot arrows at bullseyes, and I get paid to shoot digital zombies. Same vibe, different range. At least we both get to do what we love, not everyone gets that.”
Outside, the storm rages harder, thunder booming so close it rattles the windowpanes. The room empties, leaving only Lauren and Josh, swaying in each other’s arms to music only they can hear.
Bailey looks out at the rain curtain. “No way you’re driving home in that. There’s a couch in my study, it’s comfy, I swear.”
I follow her down the corridor. The lights flicker again, and for a heartbeat, Bailey’s silhouette seems to double, shifting in the half-light. She pauses, turning just long enough to press her lips against my cheek before leaving me in the middle of the room, arms full of blankets and thoughts I’ll definitely overanalyse later.
The crack of thunder jolts me awake so violently that I almost headbutt the small table next to the sofa. Lightning flashes, turning the room into a whitewashed blur. I stumble to the window and stare out at the downpour. I’ve never seen weather like this before. It’s like Thor and Zeus are having a battle in the heavens above.
The window acts as a warped mirror, and for a second, I think my half-asleep brain is pranking me. The reflection staring back is me… but not me. My hair’s longer, brushing my shoulders, and a dark tattoo snakes down my left cheek, disappearing under what looks suspiciously like leather armor.
My hand reaches up to my face, half-expecting to feel a beard. "I must be dreaming," I murmur, turning just as the door behind me creaks open.
“Garrett, you have to see this,” Josh says. His voice wobbles, and that alone tells me something’s seriously wrong. Josh doesn’t wobble.
“At first, I thought I was just really stoned,” he adds as we hurry down the hall.
He pushes open Lauren’s bedroom door, and the scene inside is straight out of Stranger Things. Lauren and Bailey are perched on the bed, wide-eyed, looking like they’ve just seen Vecna crawl out of the closet.
Bailey nods toward the tall mirror on the wall. I step closer and freeze.
Four figures stare back. Us, and yet, definitely not us. I see my reflection again, the same long hair, the tattoo, the leather gear. Josh, Lauren, and Bailey stand beside me, dressed in attire out of a medieval movie.
“What the fuck?”
“You can say that again. What is happening? You look like you just respawned in Assassin’s Creed.”
He reaches toward the mirror, and his fingers slide through it.
“Josh, don’t…!” Lauren shouts, but it’s too late. The reflection starts to ripple, the four of us blurring together in a swirl of light and colour.
Lightning strikes the roof, and Bailey screams.
The world explodes in sound and motion. The floor drops out. My stomach lurches, my insides twisting like yogurt through a straw that’s way too narrow.
Everything goes black.
My last clear thought before the void swallows me whole. This is the weirdest dream of my life…