Page 8

Chapter Eight

C allie

The Truth Mirror gleams in the afternoon light, its ornate frame seeming to mock us as we sit before it on the edge of our bed.

According to the Manual, this weekly ritual requires us to maintain eye contact through the mirror while sharing progressively deeper truths.

No looking away. No deflection. No lies.

“The first truth must relate to your current feelings. Partners take turns building on revelations.” The Manual’s words blur as my pulse hammers against my throat. Five years of careful avoidance, and now they want emotional honesty?

Aries shifts beside me, our hips touching. His reflection shows the tension in his jaw, the vein leaping on his cheek. “And we have to maintain eye contact with each other in the mirror the entire time?”

“Until the ritual is complete.” My fingers trace the Manual’s worn pages. “Three truths each, minimum.”

His gaze meets mine in the mirror, and my breath catches at the intensity there. Even in reflection, his amber eyes hold power.

“Ladies first?” he offers, the formality not quite hiding his discomfort .

Taking a deep breath, I search for a truth that won’t leave me too exposed. “I’m worried about failing these trials.” Simple. Safe. True.

“Not good enough,” a disembodied voice announces—the Truth Mirror itself, apparently. “Deeper truth required.”

Aries’ reflection shows surprise that matches my own. The Mirror is sentient? No one mentioned that particular detail.

“Fine.” Frustration makes me bolder. “I’m terrified of failing these trials because I couldn’t bear watching you die, knowing I might have prevented it.”

The Mirror hums with approval. Aries’ pupils dilate slightly, but he maintains eye contact as required.

“Your turn,” I prompt when he remains silent.

“I’m angry,” he starts, then quickly amends as the Mirror starts to protest, “I’m angry that you’re trapped in this situation because of my past mistakes. That you felt obligated to offer this sacrifice.”

“Truth accepted,” the Mirror intones. “Continue the exchange.”

The admission hangs between us, making the next truth harder to voice. “I don’t feel trapped,” I say softly. “I feel… confused. Because parts of this—parts of our morning ritual—felt…”

“Felt?” he prompts when I hesitate.

“Natural,” I finish. “Like maybe we’ve been doing everything wrong these past five years.”

The Mirror’s approving noise is almost smug. Aries’ reflection shows something raw and vulnerable before he masks it.

“I dream about the cell,” he says abruptly. “Not the bad parts, but… but the moments before. Before I… ”

The Mirror’s gilded frame vibrates expectantly, demanding more.

“Before I built the walls,” he continues roughly. “When I still let myself feel…”

“Feel what?” The words slip out before I can stop them.

His eyes close briefly—a violation of the ritual that makes the Mirror hum in warning. When they open, there’s something almost desperate in them.

“Hope,” he grits out. “I let myself feel hope. That maybe, despite the horrible circumstances, we might…”

The Mirror accepts this truth, saving him from finishing the thought. My turn again, and my heart pounds so hard I’m sure he must hear it.

“Sometimes I resent you,” I say, watching his reflection flinch.

“Not for withdrawing—I understood that. We were all traumatized, all coping however we could. I hate you for maintaining the distance even after we were free. For making me feel like those weeks in the cell showed you deep parts of me, and you rejected what I revealed.”

“Truth deeply given,” the Mirror announces, sounding pleased. “Final exchange.”

Aries’ hands clench where they rest on his thighs. “I never hated you,” he says, voice raw. “I hated myself. For being weak enough to let our masters put you in that position. For not finding another way. For wanting you even after I promised myself I wouldn’t…”

The Mirror thrums with satisfaction, but I barely notice. “Want me?”

“Ritual complete,” it announces with satisfaction, then goes silent.

We sit there, still watching each other’s reflection, the weight of our revelations settling around us. The muscle in his cheek is vibrating nonstop as the late afternoon light paints everything in shades of gold and shadow, making the moment feel somehow separate from reality.

“Aries…” I turn toward him, but he stands abruptly.

“We should prepare for evening meditation,” he says stiffly.

“Aries, stop.” I stop myself from trying to catch his arm as he tries to retreat. “You can’t just confess something like that and then pretend it was nothing.”

“It was part of the ritual.” His walls are visibly rebuilding right in front of my eyes. “Nothing more.”

“The Mirror requires truth,” I remind him. “You can’t lie during the ritual.”

“Truth is complicated,” he says, not meeting my eyes now that the Mirror’s compulsion is lifted. “What I felt then… it doesn’t matter now.”

“Doesn’t it?” Taking a step closer, I watch him tense. “Because this morning, when you were brushing my hair, it seemed like maybe…”

“Do not!” The word comes out sharp. “Please. We can’t …”

“Can’t what? Talk about this? Feel this?” Another step closer. “Why not?”

His laugh holds no humor. “Because in eighty-eight days, this ends. One way or another. Either I die, or…”

“Or?”

“Or we succeed, and you’re free to walk away. Back to your life. Back to pretending none of this ever happened.”

The bitterness in his voice takes me by surprise. “Is that what you think I want?”

“It doesn’t matter what either of us wants,” he says quietly. “What matters is surviving the trials. Nothing else. ”

“And if surviving means being honest about what’s between us?”

He looks at me then, something fierce and protective in his expression. “Then we’ll be honest enough to pass the trials. But no more than that. I won’t trap you in something just to save my life.”

“What if I want something real?”

The words hang in the air between us, shocking us both. Before he can respond, the familiar chime announces a Committee member’s arrival.

“Evening meditation begins in ten standard minutes,” the member intones. “Please prepare yourselves.”

They shimmer out of sight, leaving us with the weight of everything we’ve said—and everything we haven’t.

“We should…” Aries gestures vaguely toward the meditation corner.

“Yeah.” My voice comes out thin and reedy. “We should.”

As we take our positions on the cushions, knees touching as required, I can’t help but wonder how many more truths will these trials force us to face? And what will we do with them once they’re spoken?

The Truth Mirror gleams in the fading light, as if laughing at our attempts to maintain a careful distance while everything around us conspires to bring us closer. Eighty-eight days left to either face our truths or die trying.

Right now, I’m not sure which option terrifies me more.