Ezra's grip tightened around his dagger as the figure stepped forward.
It wasn't walking.
Not in a way that made sense.
One moment, it was distant—an outline in the void.
The next—it was closer.
Like space itself had folded inward.
Ezra's breath came slow and steady. His body screamed danger, but there was nowhere to run.
The whisper in his head stirred.
"This is wrong."
Ezra exhaled sharply. "Yeah, no kidding."
The figure tilted its head.
And for the first time, Ezra saw its face.
It was his own.
Pale. Holloweyed. Expressionless.
But off.
Like someone had painted a human face over something else.
Ezra's stomach twisted.
The doppelgänger's mouth moved.
But the voice that came out wasn't his.
"You took a step."
Ezra didn't move. "I tend to do that."
"You were not supposed to."
The void shuddered.
Ezra's instincts screamed—but he had nowhere to go.
The figure lunged.
Too fast. Too wrong.
Ezra barely had time to react. He threw himself back—but there was no ground, no gravity.
His body tumbled through nothingness.
The figure pursued.
Its limbs stretched, twisting unnaturally.
Ezra slashed his dagger.
The blade met resistance—then cut through air.
The thing broke apart—splitting into shadow, dispersing into the void.
Ezra's breath was ragged. His hands were shaking.
Then—whispers.
Not the one in his head.
A chorus. A murmur.
Growing louder.
Ezra's chest tightened.
He turned—and saw them.
Not just one.
Dozens. Hundreds.
All with his face.
All staring.
And they all spoke at once.
"You do not belong."
Ezra swallowed hard. "Well, that makes this mutual."
The void shattered.
And the world dragged him under.