The mirror didn't wait for her to choose.
It spoke first.
Ivy hadn't left the courtyard since sunset. She stood with her back to the fence, the wind clawing at her coat, the sky dull with violet bruise-light, and the two mirror-versions of herself just beyond Eli's shadow.
One wore the crown.
One wore blood.
And both whispered the same word:
Choose.
But she couldn't.
So the mirror decided.
The wind stilled.
The crows disappeared.
And in the space between one breath and the next, Ivy wasn't in the courtyard anymore.
She was back in the orchard.
Not the real one. Not the abandoned edge of school grounds where weeds choked the old trees. This version was pristine—perfect, endless rows of white blossoms, glowing softly in the dusk like candlelight.
She turned slowly.
A version of herself stood among the trees.
Barefoot. Hair loose. Eyes sharp.
"I'm the one who broke the Veil," the girl said.
Her voice was Ivy's. But older. Wiser. Angry.
"And I'm the version you buried."
Ivy stepped forward. "This isn't real."
"It's as real as you want it to be," the girl said. "You brought Eli back. You crossed into ripple space. You opened the Veil. That's my domain. Not yours."
"I didn't mean to—"
"But you did."
The orchard flickered.
A second Ivy stepped out from the opposite row of trees.
This one wore a crown.
Not metal. Not glass.
A crown made of mirror shards, hovering like a halo.
"You were supposed to die with me," she said. "But they fractured you instead. Ripped us apart. Hid us. Rewrote everything."
Ivy's knees buckled. "I don't remember anything."
"That's the point," the crowned version said. "But we do."
The wind turned cold.
All three Ivys stood in a triangle, orchard petals swirling.
And in the center of them—appeared Eli.
Whole. Breathing.
But his eyes didn't glow this time. They looked sad. Human.
"I didn't ask to come back," he said.
"You were loved," said the blood-marked Ivy. "That's enough."
Eli turned to the Ivy in the present. Our Ivy.
"You don't have to pick one of them," he said gently. "But the longer you wait… the more the world unravels."
The orchard began to split.
Not shatter.
Peel.
Like wallpaper. Like a skin. Reality folding back in strips.
And through the cracks, Ivy saw Morley's hallway—but not the one she'd left.
In this one, the lockers were different colors.
The banners read names she didn't recognize.
And her reflection stood in the glass with a key in her mouth.
The orchard peeled again.
The wind howled with voices.
And Ivy screamed.
Then—
Silence.
---
She woke up in the nurse's office.
Calla sat in the chair beside her, eating stolen vending machine crackers like nothing had happened.
"You passed out in the quad," she said. "A ripple backlash."
Ivy sat up slowly. "The mirror spoke."
Calla nodded. "They always do."
"I saw two versions of me. One with blood. One with a crown."
"They're both you," Calla said. "The world's trying to pull you back together."
"But I don't know which one to be."
Calla offered a cracker.
"That's the worst part," she said. "Sometimes you don't get to choose."
---
End of Chapter Eleven