Arcene bandages my new sigil in silence while I sit by the mirror, trembling and fighting to catch my breath. My shoulder burns, and she tells me it may strain to move that arm until the sigil scars. She cleans my face and helps me dress in a new shirt. The mirror sits broken behind us when we leave, its glass in shambles at its foot. She is free now, bound only to my sigil and our pact. Arcene is my patron. I am her sigil bearer.

We walk free. The walls glitter like the mirror's silvering, polished and pristine. A hush has overtaken the house, and those that threatened to break into my room have disappeared. Arcene drifts at my side, a hand against my back to support me. "Don't push yourself," she says.

It was several hours before I could stand, but Arcene had sat with me through the silence. My throat is raw, my voice hoarse, and the taste of vomit still lingers in my mouth like the scent of blood in my nose. But I feel it beneath the surface, lurking in my sigil—a cold, silvery presence in my bones. Power hums within me. When I touch the silver walls, I coat them again in a brighter silver. Pure. Perfect. Beautiful. I forget even my weakness for a moment.

The house is all silver, but we make our way to the entryway. I feel them there, their feet trapped as my silver creeps up their ankles. They tried to get out, but I won't let them.

We emerge at the top of the staircase overlooking the grand entrance. The silver door is shut. Sunlight gleams through silver windows. Four figures are trapped there, straining for the exit they will never reach. Four perfect silver statues, frozen forever in their fear. Therion's silver fingers are the closest to the door, almost touching the handle. He ran first, but he was also swallowed first. Azalea is beside him. The silver holds her in a position of fear, her gaze trained on the stairs where I stand like she knew I would come. Her mouth hangs open, but no sound will ever come out of it again. She, too, is silver like everything else.

The coating still creeps up Father and Mother's arms. Mother is sobbing, her tears turning to glittering metal as they touch the creeping surface halfway up her neck. "Please, Kyren," she whispers. "Please don't do this. It's not you. It's the mirror."

Father's jaw remains tight. Even in his final moments, he won't beg. His cold eyes bore into me as I descend and make way toward them with Arcene behind me. "I became a sigil bearer," I say, turning so he can see the spot of red seeping through my bandages and sticking to my shirt. "I got you the silver. I got rid of the mirror problem. You can stay here, wealthy and famous and unforgettable. It's all just like you wanted."

Father's eyes narrow. "Izara was right," he manages, and those are his last words to me before he freezes in silver, another perfect statue like his perfect children and perfect house. Everything is perfect. Just like he likes it.

"Kyren," Mother whispers again, all broken and pleading like that will make me end her suffering.

I whirl to face her, and my anger surges forward anew. "Aren't you happy? You get to be right. You get to die being right and reunite with the family you really loved. Everyone gets what they want, and I get to be rid of you."

I imagine if she could move, she would touch my face. The way her eyes soften unravels me again, but I can't turn back time. I can't unmake silver. I can only watch as it swallows her whole, tears and all. She breathes her last encased in the thing she fears.

And perhaps that isn't what she wants at all.

The silence falls thick as a curtain at the close of a show, and it hits me so hard I forget to breathe. It's all silver. My nails dig into my scalp as I fight for a breath. Then I'm on my knees at Mother's feet, and my vision is so blurred I can't make out the reflection beneath me. There will be no more silver eyes haunting me. I can look in a mirror again and know that I see myself because Arcene will not haunt me again.

But there's an emptiness inside me that isn't satisfied, and it yawns deep and wide and all-consuming. Everything is silver—perfectly polished and shiny and beautiful and detestable. I rake my hands back. Back. Back. My nails cut into my scalp. Blood sticks to them and to my hair. The sob at the back of my throat is raw, and I choke on it. I choke on my tears, too. They are cold like everything else inside me.

Let them have all the silver they desire. Let it cover them, smother them, corrupt them, destroy them, cut them to pieces.

The house is silver. The people are silver. Everything is silver, like the other side of the mirror.

But my eyes are not silver anymore. They are black as death, and they smile when they stare back at me. They do not cry, though I do.

Then Arcene's hand takes mine. Tilting my chin, she forces me to meet her eye. "There is nothing for you to mourn. Spirits only grant a heart's true wishes," she says. "I could not have done this if you did not desire it. You're my sigil bearer, remember?"

"Sigil bearer," I echo. My scalp burns from the path of my nails, but I slowly lower my hand. "Sigil bearer."

"You should not stay here." She guides me to my feet and weaves me through the statues. Their silver eyes follow me, but she makes me look away. "Look at all this silver around you. If you break it apart and mold it into something new, you can make a fortune, Kyren—more than enough to leave this place and start over somewhere new, or wander the whole world if you wish. With me at your side, you can do anything you desire."

I take in her suggestion, mulling it over as I turn again to the silver house. Even the stairs gleam in the sunbeams. Nothing lives anymore, but it's all beautiful. It's all the same as Arcene—otherworldly in its beauty and haunting. I did desire quiet and rest. I did desire to be free.

"And..." I turn to her, letting a small smile settle into my face. "Will we play more games?"

"As many as you wish."

Then I will leave this house, with its haunted mirrors and watching eyes. And I will not fray again. I will be whole and unbroken. I will be Kyren, and Arcene will be my patron.

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