Reaction: Master Bathroom
[He wanted to tell himself that he believed it was some sort of prank. Naked and dripping on the bath mat and staring at the message on his mirror through wet lashes that stuck together each time he blinked, he really wanted to believe that. But the column of carved ice that had replaced his spine had other ideas. Even after he'd padded across the tiled floor on slippery feet to the security console on the wall, cycling through the system to confirm that no doors or windows had been opened by anyone other than himself in the last twenty-four hours. Even after the goosebumps rippling across his bare skin refused to go down. Even after everything he'd seen happen in this town and that he couldn't explain, he still wanted to believe.
In the end, Seven fished his phone out of his jeans where he'd left them in a pile on the floor and opened up his camera to take a photograph of the message on the fogged glass. Not, he told himself, because he was worried that he might not actually be seeing what he thought he was seeing. Not so that he had some sort of proof.
And most of all, certainly not so that he could spend the remainder of his night stretched out on the couch, not paying attention to a movie on Netflix and intermittently picking up his phone with hands that shook just slightly so that he could flip the image back and forth, reading and re-reading the words. Why backwards? Why with each letter slightly uneven, like it was a struggle to smudge them through the moisture on the glass?