The mirror doesn't lie. Your hands, your room, your half-buttoned shirt — but the face staring back is not yours. Softer jaw, wider eyes, hair that somehow grew three inches overnight. You reach up to touch your cheek and the reflection does the same. Then there's a knock at your door. Frantic. Familiar. Nikki's voice slips through the crack, pitched two notes too high. She says she needs to tell you something. She says it's important. She says — and here she trails off into a noise that is almost a word and almost a sob. Behind her, you can hear Sable's flat voice cutting in: *Just tell him. Her. Tell them.* Something in your chest tightens. They already know what happened to you. And one of them is responsible.