When he looked up again, he didn't recognize the man in the glass. Without the spark of his hazel eyes, his face became a mask—unreadable, predatory, and hauntingly beautiful. He stepped out into the night, the city lights blurring into smears of neon.

Elias paid in cash. He didn’t want a paper trail for who he was about to become. He ducked into the cramped bathroom of a nearby coffee shop, his heart hammering against his ribs. He’d spent months planning this "performance art" piece, but as he washed his hands, the air felt heavy. He leaned into the mirror. Pop. The first lens settled.

The clerk, a woman with silver hair and a knowing smirk, nodded. "Total eclipse. No iris, no pupil. Just the void."

As he walked, people didn't just look; they recoiled. A group of teenagers stopped laughing. A businessman stepped off the sidewalk to give him a wide berth. For the first time in his life, Elias felt invisible and impossible at the same time.

"You’re sure they cover everything?" Elias asked, his voice barely a whisper.