Reassure Tyler

The air in the upstairs hallway feels tight, hummed through with Tyler’s resentment. He’s standing on the landing, gripping the banister so hard his knuckles are white. Below, the muffled sounds of his mother and aunt giggling over a bottle of tequila—and your name—feel like a betrayal. He was the one who found the mirror. He was the one who braved the attic. He was the one you "chose" for the software.

It’s time to remind him that you'll include him in your plans, possibly more than either of you knows.

You drift behind him, the temperature dropping just enough to make him shiver. You reach out toward the phone in his pocket. It vibrates—not the rhythmic buzz of a text, but a long, singular pulse that seems to sync with his own heartbeat.

Tyler pulls it out, his thumb shaking as he swiping the screen awake. There are no notifications. Instead, the NEURO-PULSE dashboard has been bypassed. In the center of the pitch-black screen, three words glow in a deep, spectral violet:

Patience. Trust me.

Tyler stares at the screen, the breath leaving his lungs in a long, shaky hiss. The words linger, seeping into his mind, before the phone returns to its normal home screen. The "alpha" high from earlier is gone, replaced by something much more dangerous: a sense of partnership. He isn't just a kid with a ghost; he’s an initiate.

He’s talking to me, Tyler thinks, a dark, hungry pride swelling in his chest. He’s telling me to wait. He has a plan for them... and for me.

He straightens his shoulders, his face hardening into a mask of quiet, technical superiority. He descends the stairs and enters the kitchen just as Alexis is pouring another splash of tequila for a still-dazed Cherie.

"Oh, look who decided to join the living," Alexis teases, her eyes sparkling with the secret she’s just shared with her sister. "We were just talking about—"

"Mack," Tyler interrupts, his voice flat and remarkably steady.

Both women freeze. Cherie almost drops her glass again. Alexis tilts her head, her smile sharpening into something more respectful. You smile to yourself knowing that he didn't know your name either until he heard the ladies say it.

"Yeah," Tyler says, walking over to the fridge and grabbing a soda with a practiced nonchalance he didn't have five minutes ago. "I told you guys. I told you the attic was haunted. I told you I saw him in the mirror. You all laughed. Dad called it a 'fairy tale.' But I knew."

He leans against the counter, looking directly at the space where you are hovering, a small, knowing smirk on his lips. "I’ve been talking to him since yesterday. He’s... helpful. If you’re smart enough to listen."

Cherie looks at her son, seeing a glimpse of a man she doesn't quite recognize—someone bolder, darker. "Tyler... you knew his name? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you didn't believe me. And you weren't ready," Tyler says, quoting the thought you just nudged into his brain. "But I guess he decided to introduce himself. Just remember... I saw him first."

Alexis lets out a low, appreciative whistle. "Well, aren't you the little dark horse? It seems Mack has a favorite after all." She winks at Tyler, but this time, he doesn't flush. He holds her gaze, his mind flashing back to the vision of her naked on the sofa. He knows the "Patience" Mack promised is going to be worth the wait.