ntion of alternate dimensions. No mirrors. No Hollow Guest. Veronica was home - sleeping twelve hours a day, eating little, speaking even less. Felix stayed close, unsure if she needed spa

y. Same location. Same conditions. Same eerie timing. Gus tapped a sticky note on the table. "Every twenty to twenty-five years, someone disappears during a performance involving a mirror or stage." Felix frowned. "Is it the theater? Or something that *lives* there?" "Or something that *feeds* there." They traced the earliest entry back to a name: *Gideon Vale.* Veronica's great-grandfather. He built the original theater. And was, reportedly, obsessed with spiritualism, reflection, and "opening doors between perception and reality." He also vanished. In a mirror. "Of course he did," Felix muttered. Gus scribbled a note. "So here's the working theory: The Vale family opened something. A reflection gate. Or a portal. Or a tear in reality. Whatever it is, it's still open. And *someone* has to keep it fed." "You think it's a curse?" "I think it's an invitation. And if we don't RSVP, it comes looking." --- The next morning, Felix woke to find a mirror in his room that hadn't been there before. A small one. Oval. Antique. Sitting on the desk, tilted slightly. He stared at it. So did his reflection. He raised one hand. So did the reflection. He smiled. The reflection didn't. Felix stood slowly. The mirror cracked down the middle - *from the inside.* He threw a towel over it. Then packed a bag. --- "We need to go back to the theater," he told Veronica. She looked exhausted, but determined. "Why?" "Because the play wasn't just a stage show. It was a *ritual.* Your great-grandfather didn't just build a theater - he built a *