Circe looked at the journal and wracked her brain. How did they defeat the mimic back then? she thought, flipping through the pages again.
“Think, Circe. You must think,” she said out loud, her voice filled with frustration. She stood from her chair and looked around her room, hoping for something—anything—to spark her memory.
Her eyes landed on her old vanity mirror standing quietly in the corner.
She slowly walked toward it and ran her fingers along its edge. The glass was cold under her touch. She stared at her reflection and whispered, “Mirror…”
A sudden memory flashed in her mind.
“Yes… the mirror!” Circe said, her voice rising with excitement. “Mirrors are symbols of truth. The mimic lives through lies and tricks. That’s how it hides. But a mirror—” she paused, staring into the
