A security guard.
Toronto. Twenty twenty-five. October fifth.

Night shift at the shopping centre is dull, except for the mirrors. I’m supposed to watch the cameras, but it’s the mirrored shopfronts that get me. At three a.m. they reflect nothing but me, me, me, all down the corridor like dominos.

Last night I walked my round and saw myself half a second late. Not on CCTV. On the glass. My arms at ease. My reflection’s fists clenched.

I stopped dead. The reflection didn’t. He kept walking. For two steps. Then he froze, as if caught, and snapped back into place.

I told myself I was tired. Except the cameras don’t lie, right? I went back to the monitors. Rewound. There I was. Hands loose. The mirror version wasn’t recorded. Only the real one.

But when I looked up, the reflection on the blank screen grinned at me. Teeth sharp in the static. My own mouth was shut.

I’ve worked nights ten years. Seen rats, thieves, fires. Nothing rattled me like that smile.

Tonight I’m bringing a torch. As if light makes a difference.