The place hadn't changed.
That was the worst part.
The street looked exactly as it had the night everything went wrong—narrow, poorly lit, wedged between buildings that leaned toward each other like conspirators. The pavement still sloped slightly toward the gutter. The streetlamp still flickered, struggling against the dark. Even the faint smell of rust and damp concrete lingered in the air.
Memory sharpened until it hurt.
"This is it," I said quietly.
EG stood a few steps behind me, just outside the circle of the streetlamp's weak glow. He hadn't tried to stop me from coming. That alone told me how close we were to something irreversible.
"Yes," he said. "This is where the seam learned your name."
Rain fell lightly, more mist than storm, as if the sky itself was unsure whether it should interfere.
I stepped forward.
The moment my foot crossed into the deepest shadow beneath the lamp, the world stuttered.
Not a full pause—just a hitch. Sound dipped. The rain slowed. The air thickened, pressing against my skin like water before a dive.
The pearl burned hot against my chest.
"This is where I chose rain," I murmured. "Instead of the door."
I remembered it now.
The door had been real. Solid. Safe.
The rain had felt… honest.
I'd stepped away from shelter and into the open street, letting the downpour soak me, wash something raw and aching out of my system. I hadn't known I was choosing anything at all.
But the mirror had been there.
Not visible. Not obvious.
Waiting.
"You didn't just choose rain," EG said. "You chose exposure. You let the city see you when you were unguarded."
The streetlamp flickered harder, light bending strangely around its glass. Reflections began to bloom in the wet pavement—too many angles, too much depth.
I swallowed. "That's when it opened."
"Yes."
A pressure built around me, familiar now, like the world inhaling.
The seam revealed itself slowly.
It wasn't a tear or a glowing. It was subtler than that—a misalignment. The reflections in the puddles no longer matched the buildings above them. The rain fell straight down, but its reflection drifted sideways.
Reality wasn't broken.
It was disagreeing with itself.
"There," EG said. "That disagreement—that's the seam."
My reflection appeared in the largest puddle at my feet.
Then another.
Then another.
Three versions, all slightly out of sync.
One looked afraid.
One looked calm.
One looked determined.
The third raised its eyes and met my gaze.
"You came back," it said.
I knelt slowly, rain soaking through my clothes. "You never left."
The reflection smiled. "Someone had to hold the space open."
"I didn't ask you to."
"No," it agreed. "You asked to survive."
The street around us blurred, buildings smearing at the edges like wet paint. The city was pretending less now, struggling to maintain its shape.
EG's voice cut through the distortion. "This is the point of origin. If you're going to close it, it has to be here."
"And how?" I asked, never looking away from my reflection.
The reflection's smile softened. "You stop choosing between rain and doors."
"That doesn't make sense."
"It will."
The pressure intensified, pulling at my thoughts, my memories, my hesitation. I felt the pause opening—wide now, powerful enough to step into fully.
I could stabilize this forever.
I could keep slipping through, smoothing fractures, delaying endings.
The city would bend.
I would endure.
The reflection leaned closer. "You don't want to end things," it whispered. "You never do."
I breathed in.
Rain filled my lungs, cold and grounding.
Then I breathed out.
"I don't want to delay them either," I said.
The pearl flared, brilliant and white-hot.
For the first time, I didn't hesitate.
I stood, stepped fully into the rain, and turned toward the door I'd ignored all those nights ago—the rusted service entrance half-hidden in shadow.
It was there now.
Solid. Real.
Waiting.
The seam screamed—not aloud, but through pressure and resistance, the city pushing back as reality snapped into alignment.
The reflections shattered.
Not violently.
Decisively.
The puddles went still. The rain fell straight. The streetlamp steadied, its light firm and unwavering.
The space between breaths collapsed.
I stumbled forward, heart pounding, and pushed the door open.
Behind me, something folded inward, clean and final.
The rain stopped.
When I turned back, the street was just a street.
No extra reflections.
No lingering pressure.
EG stood where he had been, watching carefully. Slowly, he nodded.
"It's closed," he said.
My chest felt tight, my thoughts quieter—narrower somehow, like a room with fewer exits.
"What did I lose?" I asked.
EG didn't answer right away.
Instead, he looked at the puddle at my feet.
It reflected only one of me.
"You lost the space to run," he said gently. "And gained the burden of staying."
The door behind me clicked shut.
This time, I didn't look back.