The dorm room was cluttered with the usual chaos of college life—half-empty pizza boxes, discarded gym bags, and posters of football legends covering the walls. Emmett stepped inside, pausing for a moment as the familiar smell of sweaty socks and cheap cologne hit him. His roommates were sprawled across the mismatched furniture, their voices rising in animated banter as the TV blared highlights from last week's game.
"Emmett! Look who's finally back!" one of his roommates called, grinning as he tossed a football in the air. "Thought you'd abandoned us for good, man."
Emmett smiled, dropping his keys on the desk by the door. "Yeah, not quite. Just came to grab my stuff. I'm moving back home."
The announcement earned a collective groan. "No way, man," another guy said, sitting up on the couch. "You're ditching dorm life? What's next—eating kale and calling your parents every night?"
Emmett chuckled, hefting an empty box from the corner. "Something like that. Family wants me closer."
"Bet Sheriff Dad put the pressure on, huh?" one of them joked, tossing the football his way. Emmett caught it effortlessly, spinning it in his hands before tossing it back.
"Something like that," he said again, his voice quieter this time.
The guys didn't notice the change in tone, too absorbed in ribbing each other about the upcoming game. But Emmett felt it—the faint tug of something out of place. The conversations were familiar, the camaraderie easy, but a part of him felt like a spectator in his own life.
As he began packing his belongings, his teammates helped out, cracking jokes about his questionable taste in posters and the state of his gym shoes. For a moment, it was easy to slip back into the rhythm of dorm life, but a nagging sense of detachment lingered.
"You're sure about this, man?" one of his closer friends asked as Emmett zipped up his duffel bag. "Feels like you're disappearing on us."
"I'll still be around," Emmett replied, forcing a smile. "Just need to focus on some stuff right now."
The friend clapped him on the shoulder. "Well, don't go getting all boring on us. You've got a reputation to uphold."
Emmett laughed, but as he looked around the room one last time, the feeling of displacement settled deeper. He slung his bag over his shoulder and said his goodbyes, promising to meet up soon. But as he walked down the hallway, the echoes of laughter behind him felt distant, like a memory he couldn't quite hold onto.
At the sheriff's office, Snow sat across from David, her hands wrapped around a steaming mug of coffee. Her face was etched with worry, and she hadn't taken a sip. David leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his expression unreadable.
"We need to do something," Snow said, her voice tight.
David nodded slowly. "I know. But we can't rush this. We need answers first. If this is Cora's magic…" He trailed off, shaking his head.
"It is her magic," Snow said firmly. "You saw the way Regina reacted. And now Emmett—" She broke off, her voice cracking. "He doesn't even remember Regina. He doesn't remember Henry. How do we fix this if he doesn't even know what's wrong?"
David leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "We start with what we know. Mother Superior might have insight into what Cora did. If we can figure out how the potion worked, maybe we can undo it."
Snow looked unconvinced. "And what if we can't?"
David's silence was answer enough.
Regina's office at the Town Hall was unnervingly quiet. Papers sat untouched on her desk, and the normally bustling building seemed to echo with emptiness. Regina stared at the ornate mirror resting on the desk, its surface dull and unassuming. But she knew better.
She reached for it hesitantly, her fingers brushing the gilded edge. The mirror glowed faintly, and her reflection rippled. Shadows danced across the glass, forming faint, distorted images.
"Show me," Regina whispered.
The surface swirled, revealing fleeting glimpses—fragments of moments with Emmett. A laugh shared over a meal. A lingering touch in the quiet of the night. And then, a distorted image of Emmett walking away, his face blank and unrecognizing.
"Love is weakness," a voice whispered from the mirror, low and mocking.
Regina clenched her fists, her jaw tightening. "You don't get to win, Mother," she hissed.
The mirror flickered, its surface smoothing into nothingness. Regina sat back, her heart pounding. The mirror wasn't just a message—it was a challenge.
Meanwhile, at school, Henry stared blankly at his textbook. His teacher's voice droned on in the background, but his mind was elsewhere. His dad's words from the night before echoed in his head: "I'm not your dad."
Henry's hand tightened around his pencil, and he fought back the sting of tears. His classmates whispered around him, some throwing curious glances his way.
"What's his deal?" one of them muttered.
Another snickered. "Maybe his dad finally bailed."
The words hit Henry harder than they should have. Without thinking, he turned, his voice shaking with anger. "Shut up!"
The teacher stopped mid-sentence, the classroom falling silent.
"Henry," she said sharply. "That's enough."
Henry sank back into his seat, his face burning with humiliation. He didn't care about the stares or the whispers. All he could think about was finding a way to fix what had happened.
By the time Emmett returned to his parents' house, the sun was beginning to set. Snow met him at the door, her smile warm but tinged with sadness.
"You're home," she said softly, stepping aside to let him in.
"Yeah," Emmett replied, setting his bags down in the entryway. He glanced around, the familiarity of the space oddly comforting. "It feels… right, I guess."
David joined them, studying Emmett carefully. "How was the dorm?"
"Same as always," Emmett said with a shrug. "The guys are going to miss me, though."
David nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good to have you here."
Emmett offered a small smile, but as he carried his belongings upstairs, the same nagging unease followed him.
Henry sat cross-legged on his bed, the familiar weight of the storybook resting in his lap. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the muffled sounds of children playing drifted through the open window, a stark contrast to the turmoil swirling in his chest.
He flipped through the book's pages with growing frustration, the illustrated tales of heroes and villains blurring together. "Come on," he muttered under his breath. "There's got to be something in here."
He paused at a story about True Love's Kiss breaking an ancient curse. The words felt hollow now, a cruel reminder of what should have been a happy ending. His finger traced the golden letters, his mind racing. His parents—his real parents—had fought through impossible odds. They'd saved each other, saved him. That was supposed to be enough. So why wasn't it?
Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he blinked them away. "This isn't over," he whispered, his jaw tightening. "We've fixed curses before. We can fix this."
As he turned the next page, a glimmer caught his eye. The corner of an illustration shimmered faintly in the lamplight—a depiction of a queen standing before a golden mirror. The caption beneath it read: "The Mirror of Shadows reveals the truth, but only at the cost of the heart."
Henry's brow furrowed. He'd seen the story a hundred times but never noticed the mirror before. His hand hovered over the page as an idea began to take shape in his mind. If the mirror could reveal the truth, maybe it held the answer to fixing his dad.
Upstairs, Emmett lay on his bed, his arms folded behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. The house was quiet, save for the faint sounds of Snow cooking dinner in the kitchen. The scent of roasted vegetables and something savory wafted through the air, but Emmett barely noticed.
His mind felt like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing. The day had been normal—so normal that it felt wrong. Moving back in with his parents, joking with his friends, packing up his dorm room… it all fit perfectly with the life he remembered. And yet, something about it felt hollow.
He thought of Henry, the boy's tearful outburst replaying in his mind. "You're my dad!" Henry's words had hit him like a punch to the gut. The desperation in his voice, the betrayal in his eyes—it wasn't something Emmett could brush off. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make sense of it.
Sighing, he turned onto his side, his gaze landing on a photo on his bedside table. It was a picture of him, Snow, and David at a football game. They looked happy—whole. But as he stared at the image, an ache settled in his chest, a feeling of something missing. Or someone.
He closed his eyes, willing the unease to go away, but it lingered, a whisper at the edge of his thoughts.
At Town Hall, Regina stood in her office, the room bathed in the dim glow of the setting sun. Papers were scattered across her desk, but her eyes were fixed on the mirror. Its surface was dark now, but she could still feel its presence, like a pulse in the room.
She reached out, her fingers brushing the ornate frame. The chill of the metal sent a shiver up her spine. The mirror had always been a tool of manipulation, a reflection of her mother's power. And now, it was all she had left of Cora.
"Show me," she whispered again, but the glass remained still.
A pang of frustration surged through her, and she pulled her hand away. She didn't need the mirror to tell her what she already knew. Her mother had orchestrated this, tying her final curse to Emmett in a way that felt impossible to undo. But Regina wasn't ready to give up. Not yet.
Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked to the door. She paused, her hand resting on the doorknob as she glanced back at the mirror one last time. Its surface seemed to flicker faintly, almost as if it were watching her.
"This isn't over," she murmured, her voice low but steady. "I'll bring him back. No matter what it takes."
With that, she turned off the light and closed the door, leaving the mirror to glow faintly in the darkened room.
Downstairs, Snow hummed softly as she stirred a pot on the stove, her movements methodical and deliberate. She glanced toward the doorway, listening for the familiar sound of footsteps. David would be in soon, she knew, and Emmett would come down for dinner when he was ready. But the house felt heavier than usual, the weight of unspoken fears pressing against her.
Her hand paused as she leaned against the counter, her mind drifting to Regina. The raw anguish in her voice when she'd confronted Emmett was still fresh in Snow's memory. She couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have the person you loved look at you like a stranger. The thought sent a chill through her, and she shook her head, willing it away.
Dinner was almost ready. She forced a smile and reached for the plates, determined to focus on the one thing she could control—keeping her family together.