Gemini stands before a cracked mirror, her reflection jagged and distorted.

“You ever stand in front of a mirror long enough that it stops looking like you? The angles twist, the shadows stretch, and suddenly the face staring back isn’t yours anymore—it’s something else. Something older. Something unfinished.”

She exhales, running a hand along the splintered glass.

“That’s what you see, isn’t it, Tombstone? Or should I say Ezra?”

The weight of that name hangs heavy in the air.

“You don’t like that name, do you? Because Ezra is the man in the mirror. And how long have you spent trying not to face him?”

She tilts her head, smirking slightly.

“You used to be something. The Ferryman, the savage rowing the damned across the river, bound to the chains that held you. But those chains broke. You broke. And now you’re standing in front of that mirror, clawing at the glass, trying to piece the shackles back together because you don’t know how to live without them.”

She steps back, her reflection warping.

“I know that feeling. The shadows whispering that if you just put it all back the way it was, maybe—just maybe—you’ll feel whole again. But let me tell you something, Ezra. Shadows endure. They cling to you like smoke, like something that refuses to be buried.”

Her tone shifts, lighter now, almost amused.

“You still wanna be the Ferryman so bad. You’re like some washed-up gambler chasing the high of your one big win. You keep going back to the table, thinking this time, this time, you’ll beat the house, get it all back. But that’s not how this works. You’re not up against some lucky break—you’re up against the house, and the house always wins. Igor Mortis? He’s the house, Ezra. He already cashed out—cut his losses and moved on.”

Her breath fogs the glass.

“Me? I already lost it all. And I’m still here. Nergal. The Red Light District. Kaiju. The bodies, the blood, the destruction. I accept it. I look in the mirror, and I don’t turn away. I don’t pretend it didn’t happen. I don’t try to glue my chains back together and act like I was never broken. I was. And I am. But at least I’m not lying to myself.”

Gemini runs her fingers along the cracks in the mirror.

“But you? You’re still pretending. Still trying to convince yourself that if you row hard enough, if you play the right hand, you’ll get it all back. That if you just close your eyes, the man in the mirror won’t be staring back at you when you open them.”

She steps back.

“But you can’t outrun him. You can’t erase him. Because no matter how deep you bury Ezra, he’s still there. He’s the one holding the oar. He’s the one placing the bet. And sooner or later, you’re gonna have to face him. Not the Ferryman. Not the house. Not the shadow. Just you.”

Click.

Her voice drops to a whisper.

“Take a picture, Ezra. Because the man in the mirror is all that’s left of you.”