Lena’s job was simple, which is why it was terrifying. She was a Reflector at the Hall of Proxies, a vast, silent archive buried beneath the shifting dunes of a dead sea. Her task: to stand before four specific mirrors each day and speak the truth.
The mirror cracked. Not physically, but in the way a lie cracks when truth touches it. A thin web of silver lines spread across the surface. Kaelen, three floors above, paused mid-sentence during a security briefing. For one heartbeat, she felt naked —as if someone had peeled back her skin and read the secret diary of her soul. reflect 4 proxy
And then the mirror showed Lena her own face—exhausted, pale, with dark circles under her eyes. But there was something else: a quiet ferocity. A refusal to turn away. Lena’s job was simple, which is why it was terrifying
The mirror rippled. For a moment, Lena thought she saw tears in the glass—but they were her own. She was crying for Kaelen’s victims. That was the cruel trick of being a Reflector: you borrowed someone else’s blindness, and in return, you carried their sight. The mirror cracked
The mirror stayed dark.
“This is your footprint,” Lena said, her voice steady. “You told yourself the ends justify the means. But the ends are still screaming.”