Chapter 2: The Mirage at the Door

Chapter 2: The Mirage at the Door

The face in the mirror was Kael’s, but the terror reflected in his eyes was all hers. Lyra’s breath hitched in a chest that felt too broad, her pulse hammering a frantic rhythm against a ribcage that wasn't her own. She lifted a hand—Kael’s hand, large and calloused from training—and watched it tremble. This was impossible. A nightmare rendered in flesh and bone.

The whine of the BSR drone intensified, a dentist’s drill against the raw nerve of her panic. It was circling lower now, its optical sensors no doubt scanning their home for any thermal or genetic anomalies. Below, Kael lay dead to the world, the architect of this disaster, blissfully unaware.

Get up, Kael. Wake up!

She scrambled back to his side, shaking his shoulder. His body was limp, a dead weight. “Kael, wake up!” she hissed, the voice that came out a guttural whisper, deeper than her own. It was his voice. The dissonance sent a fresh wave of nausea through her. He didn't stir. The failed ritual had drained him completely.

A heavy, official thud echoed from upstairs. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The front door.

Ice flooded Lyra’s veins. BSR. It had to be. Random full-moon inspections weren't unheard of, especially in sectors with a history of latent activity. A history their family had, thanks to Elara.

“Just a moment!” Her mother’s voice, stretched thin with forced pleasantry, drifted down the stairs. Her parents were home. That was both a blessing and a curse. They could run interference, but they would also be in the line of fire.

Lyra’s mind raced, chewing through impossible options. She couldn't shift back—she didn't even know how she’d shifted in the first place. They couldn’t hide Kael’s body; the BSR agents carried life-sign scanners. Her heart hammered against her sternum. There was only one, insane choice.

With a surge of adrenaline-fueled strength that belonged to this new body, she hauled Kael’s unconscious form into the darkest corner of the basement, behind a stack of old storage bins. She grabbed a dusty, mildewed tarp and threw it over him, arranging it to look like a forgotten pile of junk. It wouldn’t hold up to a real search, but it was all she had.

She took a shaky breath, closing her eyes. She had to be Kael. She straightened her—his—shoulders, mimicking the arrogant posture he always affected. She let her face settle into a look of bored impatience, a mask he wore to hide his constant frustration.

Swallowing the lump of fear in her throat, she climbed the wooden stairs, her footsteps heavier, more solid than her own.

The scene in the living room was exactly as she’d dreaded. Two BSR agents stood like sterile white statues in the center of their worn floral rug. Their uniforms were pristine, their faces impassive. The lead agent, a woman with hair pulled back into a severe bun and eyes as cold as chipped ice, held a humming silver scanner. Lyra’s parents stood opposite them, her father’s hands stuffed in his pockets to hide their trembling, her mother wringing her hands by her side.

“Everything is in order, officers,” her father was saying. “The dampeners are fully functional. The children are secure.”

The lead agent’s gaze flicked past him and locked onto Lyra as she emerged from the basement. “Kael Thorne,” the agent stated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. “Report.”

Lyra forced a slight smirk, a Kael trademark. “Reporting what? The thrilling sight of a concrete wall?” She pitched her voice to match her brother’s usual sarcastic drawl. “Everything’s fine. Boring, as usual.”

The agent’s eyes narrowed. The scanner in her hand emitted a low, discordant beep. “Our long-range sensors picked up a significant energy spike from this address approximately ten minutes ago. An anomaly.”

“Faulty sensor, maybe?” Lyra shrugged, her borrowed shoulders feeling unnaturally broad. “Or maybe the neighbor’s new entertainment system. Thing’s a beast.”

The agent was unmoved. “Where is your sister? Lyra Thorne.”

The direct question felt like a physical blow. “Sick,” Lyra said, the lie tasting like ash. “Full-moon fever hit her hard this time. She’s asleep in her room. Best not to disturb her.”

The scanner beeped again, faster this time. A frantic, insistent pulse. “Anomalous genetic readings in the immediate vicinity,” the agent announced, her cold gaze sweeping the room before landing back on Lyra. “We’ll need to run a full sweep of the premises. Including the basement.”

It was over. The flimsy tarp, the half-baked lie—it was all about to come crashing down. They would find Kael. They would scan her and discover a biological impossibility, an aberration that would get her locked in a BSR lab for the rest of her life, just another one of their horrific experiments. The ghost of Elara’s fate loomed over her, cold and suffocating.

Her father stepped forward. “Now, see here, that’s not necessary—”

“It is necessary, Mr. Thorne.” The agent’s partner, a large, silent man, put a hand on the basement door.

Lyra’s muscles tensed, ready to fight, to run, to do something stupid and futile.

Just as the agent’s fingers brushed the doorknob, the doorbell chimed.

Everyone froze. The sound was so polite, so jarringly normal in the thick, suffocating tension. The BSR agents exchanged a look of annoyance. Her mother, seizing the opportunity, scurried to the door and opened it.

A man stood on their doorstep, silhouetted against the porch light. He was dressed in a tailored dark suit that seemed to absorb the light around it. His features were handsome but utterly generic, the kind of face you’d forget the moment he turned away.

“Apologies for the interruption,” the man said, his voice smooth as polished stone. He stepped inside, his sharp, calculating grey eyes taking in the entire scene in a single glance. He held up a small, black ID card. “Silas Marr, Internal Oversight. I’m here to supervise this inspection.”

The lead agent stiffened, her professional composure cracking for the first time. “Sir, we weren’t informed…”

“You weren’t meant to be,” Silas said, his tone casual, yet it carried an unmistakable edge of command. His eyes flickered to the frantically beeping scanner in her hand. “Having trouble with your Series-7, Officer?” he asked, a faint, condescending smile playing on his lips. “They’re notoriously twitchy. Prone to picking up interference from local comms relays. Let me see.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, plucking the device from her grasp. His fingers moved over the console, a blur of casual efficiency. The frantic beeping stuttered, slowed, and then stopped, replaced by a steady, green-lit hum. The anomalous readings were gone.

“There,” Silas said, handing it back. “Calibrated. As I was saying, headquarters has been concerned about false positives wasting Bureau resources.” He looked from her to her partner, his gaze lingering just long enough to be unnerving. “Your report will state that the inspection of the Thorne residence was completed without incident. The latent twins are secure and non-symptomatic. Is that clear?”

The lead agent’s face was a mask of confusion and resentment, but the authority in Silas’s voice was absolute. “Sir… yes, sir. Crystal.”

“Good.” Silas smiled, a brief, predatory flash of teeth. “Then you’re dismissed.”

Without another word, the two BSR agents turned and marched out of the house, the door clicking shut behind them, leaving a stunned, echoing silence.

Lyra’s parents sagged with relief, murmuring their thanks to the stranger. But Lyra couldn't move. She stared at Silas, her heart—Kael’s heart—still pounding a frantic rhythm. Who was this man? Why had he helped them?

Silas’s gaze shifted, moving past her parents and locking directly onto her. The forgettable handsomeness sharpened, his grey eyes seeming to peel back the layers of her disguise, seeing the terrified girl cowering inside the stolen form of her brother. The faint smile returned to his lips, but this time it held no warmth. It was the look of a predator that had just cornered its fascinating new prey.

“That was a neat trick, little shifter,” he murmured, his voice too low for her parents to hear. “But your first mistake was thinking you were the only one who could do it.”

As she watched, the edges of his form began to blur, to shimmer subtly like heat haze rising from asphalt. For a split second, the generic face wavered, hinting at something else beneath. The man was a mirage, a living illusion. And he knew her impossible, terrifying secret.