The torrential rain battered against the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the corporate lobby, turning the world outside into a blurred, gray canvas. Elara stood shivering near the revolving doors, pulling her beige trench coat tighter around her frame. She adjusted the silk scarf at her neck, eyeing the unforgiving storm. She had forgotten her umbrella, and a heavy sense of dread was already pooling in her stomach.

Suddenly, the rhythmic sound of polished leather shoes clicking against the marble floor caught her attention. A man walked over. He was impeccably dressed in a tailored black overcoat, a crisp white shirt, and a striped tie. His sharp features were framed by silver-rimmed glasses, giving him an intense, calculating aura.

He stopped right in front of her. Without a word of greeting, he extended his arm and handed her the red umbrella he was holding. The handle was a smooth, curved black plastic, and the fabric was a vibrant, unsettling shade of crimson.

Elara was instantly shocked. Her breath caught in her throat, and her eyes widened in pure terror. It was exactly the same. The man, the coat, the glasses, and that specific, blood-red umbrella. It was exactly what the person in her bathroom mirror had predicted just three hours ago.

“When the man in black offers you the crimson shield against the storm, do not take it. It is an invitation to the abyss,” the reflection—which looked like her, but spoke with a voice like crushed glass—had whispered.

Seeing the girl hesitate, her hands trembling by her sides, the man pushed the umbrella closer.

“Take it,” the man urged, his voice smooth but carrying an undeniable weight of authority. “The storm is only going to get worse. You shouldn’t be caught out in the cold. Take it quickly.”

“I… I can’t,” Elara stammered, taking a step back. “I’m waiting for someone. Thank you, but no.”

The girl still refused, keeping her hands firmly buried in her trench coat pockets. A flicker of annoyance crossed the man’s perfectly composed face.

At that exact moment, another female coworker walked over. It was Chloe, dressed in a stunning, completely impractical white off-the-shoulder dress. She looked between Elara and the man, rolling her eyes at Elara’s apparent shyness.

“Well, if she doesn’t want it, I’ll absolutely take it,” Chloe said with a bright, overly confident laugh. She stepped right between them, effortlessly took the red umbrella from the man’s grip, and flashed him a flirtatious smile. “Thank you so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

Then, Chloe opened the red umbrella. It snapped open with a sharp thwack, blooming like a massive red flower in the drab lobby. She stepped out through the glass doors into the pouring rain. The man didn’t say a word. He simply opened his own, massive black umbrella and followed closely behind her, his dark silhouette blending into the stormy evening.

Elara stood frozen, watching them disappear into the mist. Once they were out of sight, she pulled her collar up and made a mad dash into the downpour.

After the girl returned home drenched by the rain, she was shivering uncontrollably. The chill had seeped into her very bones. She stripped off her soaked trench coat, throwing it over a chair, and changed into dry, comfortable loungewear. Collapsing onto her bed, she pulled her knees to her chest, grabbing her favorite fluffy teddy bear and hugging it tight.

The silence of her apartment was deafening, save for the rain lashing against her bedroom window. Elara stared up at the ceiling, her mind racing.

“It was just stress,” she muttered to herself, squeezing the teddy bear. “I was just hallucinating. The person in the mirror wasn’t real.” She thought the person in the mirror had lied to her. After all, she had refused the umbrella, got soaked, but nothing bad had actually happened on the way home. There were no monsters in the shadows, no sudden accidents. She was safe in her bed.

She let out a long sigh of relief and reached over to her nightstand, grabbing her smartphone to check her messages and wind down. She scrolled aimlessly for a few seconds until a breaking news banner dropped down from the top of her screen.

BREAKING: Local Woman Found Dead in Alleyway Following Apparent Hit-and-Run.

Elara’s heart stopped. She clicked the notification. The next moment, the girl saw a news report that made the blood freeze in her veins. There, on the screen, was a picture of a white off-the-shoulder dress, now ruined and muddy. The coworker who carried the red umbrella had died. The article stated she was found less than three blocks from the office building, the crushed remains of a bright red umbrella discarded near the scene.

The girl felt extremely terrified. The phone slipped from her trembling fingers, landing softly on the duvet. It wasn’t a hallucination. The mirror hadn’t lied. The man in the black coat hadn’t been offering shelter; he had been handing out a death sentence. And Chloe had volunteered to take her place.

A sickening wave of guilt and sheer panic washed over Elara. She scrambled off the bed, her bare feet slapping against the cold hardwood floor as she rushed into the bathroom. She flicked on the harsh fluorescent light and gripped the edges of the porcelain sink, staring intensely at her own reflection.

For a moment, it was just her. Pale skin, wide, terrified eyes, and damp hair clinging to her cheeks.

“Are you there?” Elara whispered, her voice cracking. “You were right. Oh my god, you were right. She’s dead.”

The reflection blinked. But Elara hadn’t.

Slowly, the corners of the reflection’s mouth curled up into a somber, knowing smile. The entity in the mirror leaned forward, pressing its phantom hands against the other side of the glass.

“I told you, Elara,” the raspy, echoing voice filled the small bathroom. “The man in black is a collector. He needed a soul tonight. Because you refused the crimson shield, the ledger was unbalanced. The other girl paid your debt.”

“Who is he?” Elara cried out, tears finally spilling over her eyelashes. “What does he want with me?”

“He wants what is owed,” the mirror replied, its expression turning dead serious. “You cheated the design tonight. But the design does not like to be cheated. He knows you saw him. He knows you refused the gift. The rules of survival have now changed.”

Elara gripped her hair, hyperventilating. “What do I do? Tell me what to do!”

The reflection leaned closer, its breath seemingly fogging up the inside of the mirror. “Tomorrow at exactly noon, the collector will find you again. He will offer you a cup of black coffee in a white porcelain mug. He will tell you it will warm you up. If you drink it, your heart will stop beating before you finish the last drop.”

“I just won’t drink it!” Elara yelled desperately. “I’ll throw it away! I’ll tell him to leave me alone!”

“No!” the reflection snapped, striking the glass from the inside, causing a spiderweb crack to appear near the top left corner. “You cannot simply refuse a second time. Refusal angers him. You must take the cup, look him directly in the eyes, and spill the coffee onto his polished shoes. Only then will the contract be broken. Do you understand?”

Elara stared at the crack in the glass, terrified beyond rational thought. “Spill it on his shoes… I understand. I’ll do it.”

The reflection slowly faded back into Elara’s own terrified visage. The bathroom was silent once more, save for Elara’s ragged breathing. She backed away from the sink, turning off the light.

The night dragged on, a sleepless torment of shadows and phantom footsteps. When morning finally broke, painting the city in a cold, unforgiving light, Elara dressed for work like a soldier preparing for battle. Every shadow on her commute felt like a threat. Every tall man in a dark coat made her heart violently hammer against her ribs.

When she arrived at the office, the atmosphere was suffocating. Whispers about Chloe’s tragic accident echoed through the cubicles. Elara kept her head down, staring at the clock on her computer monitor.

11:45 AM. 11:50 AM. 11:55 AM.

Her palms were sweating. She felt nauseous. She stood up and walked toward the breakroom, her legs feeling like lead. She needed a glass of water to calm her nerves.

As she pushed open the swinging door of the breakroom, the air temperature seemed to drop ten degrees. Standing by the espresso machine, impeccably dressed in his black suit and silver-rimmed glasses, was the man.

He turned to face her, a polite, chillingly hollow smile on his lips. In his right hand, he held a steaming white porcelain mug.

“Good afternoon,” he said, his smooth voice echoing in the quiet room. “You look pale. The shock of yesterday’s tragedy, I assume? I made this for you. Black coffee. It will warm you up.”

Elara’s breath caught. It was exactly noon. The final test had begun.