Morning came the way it always did—quiet, predictable, and completely indifferent.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, waiting.
For something to feel off.
A voice. A shift. A crack in the silence.
Nothing.
Everything held together perfectly.
Too perfectly.
I exhaled through my nose and pushed myself upright, rubbing a hand over my face. For a second, I let myself believe it had been a dream. Stress filling in gaps. My brain trying to make sense of something it couldn't process.
Then I looked at my hand.
The mark hadn't faded.
It hadn't even changed.
It just… existed. Like it had already decided it wasn't going anywhere.
I curled my fingers into a fist, like that might hide it. Like that mattered.
"It's not real," I muttered.
It didn't sound convincing.
It sounded like I was trying to make a deal.
School was the same.
That was the problem.
Same walls. Same noise. Same routine. Everything exactly where it should be—like nothing had happened.
But people weren't.
Kellan was gone.
His friends too.
No announcement. No rumors loud enough to stick. Just empty space where they used to be. Like someone had erased them and everyone else agreed not to notice.
Except—
not completely.
I saw him near the lockers.
At first, I almost didn't recognize him.
Same height.
Same build.
But something about him felt… off.
Drained.
Like the edges of him had dulled overnight.
His skin looked pale—not sick pale.
Worse.
Like something had been taken out of him instead of something being wrong with him.
He leaned against the lockers, shoulders slightly slumped, breathing heavier than he should've been for just standing there.
One of his friends hovered nearby.
"Yo… you good?" the guy asked, half-laughing, half-serious. "You look like shit."
Kellan didn't answer immediately.
Just rubbed a hand over his face like it took more effort than it should.
"I'm fine," he muttered.
But it came out thinner.
Weaker.
Not convincing.
His friend frowned slightly. "You sure? You look like you're about to pass out."
Kellan straightened a little at that.
Too fast.
Like he didn't want it to be seen.
"I said I'm fine."
But even that lacked weight.
I watched him for a second longer than I meant to.
Something about it—
didn't sit right.
Not fear.
Not guilt.
Just… recognition without context.
Like I was looking at a result—
without remembering the cause.
Then he glanced up.
Our eyes almost met.
And for a second—
something flickered across his face.
Not anger.
Not confidence.
Something closer to—
unease.
I looked away first.
"Dude," Adrian said as we walked, lowering his voice a little, "you've got people staring."
"I noticed."
"No, I mean really staring," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "Like… trying to figure something out."
"I didn't ask for that."
He let out a short breath. "Yeah. That doesn't seem to matter lately."
I didn't respond.
Because he wasn't wrong—and that part bothered me more than it should have.
By afternoon, everything felt heavier.
Not different. Just… waiting.
Like I was late to something I didn't remember agreeing to.
I dropped into my seat.
Gwen was already there by the window, one leg tucked slightly under the other, sunlight catching in her hair. Same as always.
Except now I was paying attention.
Not because I wanted to.
Because I didn't fully trust that she belonged here.
We sat in silence.
It stretched just long enough to become uncomfortable.
I should've said something.
Anything.
But every option felt slightly off, like I'd pick the wrong version of reality if I spoke too soon.
don't overthink it
The voice slid in cleanly, like it had always been part of the thought.
just talk
My jaw tightened slightly.
Gwen shifted beside me, glancing over.
"Hey…"
I looked at her.
"I'm Gwen," she said, offering a small, slightly awkward smile.
"I know," I said immediately.
Too fast.
Her eyebrows lifted just a little. "Oh. Okay."
I exhaled. "Sorry. That sounded weird. We have trig together."
"…Right," she said, dragging the word out just enough to make it clear it was weird.
I winced faintly. "That didn't help, did it?"
She let out a small laugh—quiet, but real. "Not really, no."
"Yeah. Thought so."
A brief pause settled between us again, but this time it wasn't as sharp.
She studied me for a second, head tilting slightly.
"You're quieter than I expected."
"I get that a lot."
"Do you?" she asked.
"Not out loud," I said. "But yeah."
That earned a more genuine smile.
"I thought you'd be…" she hesitated, searching for the word, "more intimidating, I guess."
"I'm not," I said.
She looked at me for another second, then nodded once. "Yeah. I figured."
Something about that landed heavier than it should have.
The bell rang, and the room emptied fast—chairs scraping, voices overlapping, the usual chaos snapping back into place.
A breeze slipped through the open window.
A folded brochure drifted in, catching the air like it knew where it was going, and landed neatly on Gwen's desk.
She picked it up.
"Circus?" she said, flipping it open. "That's… random."
"Everything is lately," I muttered.
She glanced at me, then back at the paper. "Weekend event. Lights, music, the whole thing."
"Sounds loud."
She smiled slightly. "That's kind of the point."
I shrugged. "Maybe."
She tapped the edge of the brochure against the desk, thinking, then looked at me again.
"You should come."
"I don't know," I said honestly.
She held my gaze for a second longer than expected.
Then, softer, "I'll be there."
A small pause.
"…So you won't be the only one," she added, like she was correcting herself.
I nodded once.
"Okay."
It came out quieter than I meant it to.
But she didn't push.
The hallway felt… reorganized after that.
Not louder. Not quieter.
Just different in a way that didn't have a name.
People looked at me when they thought I wouldn't notice.
Quick glances. Half-second calculations.
Not fear.
Not respect.
Something in between.
"Yeah," Adrian muttered beside me, following one of the looks. "You're definitely not imagining it."
"I wish I was."
He hesitated. "You think it's about… what happened?"
"I think," I said slowly, "people don't like not understanding things."
"…That includes me, by the way."
I glanced at him. "I know."
"Good," he said. "Just checking."
Detention was empty.
Not quiet—empty.
The kind of stillness that felt enforced, like even the air knew it wasn't supposed to move too much.
No Kellan.
No noise.
Just rows of desks and the faint hum of fluorescent lights.
When it ended, I left last.
The corridor outside was dimmer than it should've been.
And longer.
I took a few steps—
Then stopped.
Something shifted.
Not sound. Not movement.
Space.
Like the hallway had been stretched just slightly out of alignment.
The air behind me thickened.
don't turn around too slow
I turned.
The space behind me tore open.
Not clean. Not natural.
Like something had forced its way through from the other side and left the wound open behind it.
The edges twisted and dragged, dark and uneven, as if the corridor itself was trying to close around it—and failing.
No light came from within.
Only depth.
And something moving inside it.
Then it stepped through.
Too tall—its head nearly brushing the ceiling, but not quite touching it. Its shape wasn't stable, edges flickering like a bad signal. Limbs too long, bending at angles that didn't match the joints they should've had.
Its surface looked wrong.
Not solid.
Not liquid.
Like compressed shadow pulled too tight over something that didn't fit inside it.
It moved—
No warning.
No wind-up.
Just distance collapsing as it reached me.
I barely got my arms up.
The impact hit like a car crash.
Metal screamed as I was thrown back into the lockers. Pain shot through both arms, sharp and immediate—but they held.
Barely.
It moved again.
Faster.
Another strike—
I caught it, but not cleanly. My arms buckled, the force driving me back a step.
I should've been done already.
The thing paused.
Just for a fraction of a second.
Its head tilted.
Not confused.
Measuring.
Then it came again.
I hit the ground, rolling instinctively as something slammed into the tile where my head had been.
The floor cracked.
I stared at it for half a second.
That should've been me.
"Move," I muttered to myself, forcing my body up.
It closed the distance again.
Too fast.
I raised my arms—
Too slow.
The hit slammed into my shoulder, sending me into the wall hard enough to knock the breath out of me. My vision blurred at the edges.
Still conscious.
Still moving.
"Why am I not—"
Another strike.
I reacted without thinking this time.
Not blocking.
Shifting.
Redirecting—just enough.
The force still threw me back, but not as far.
The thing paused again.
Closer now.
Watching.
Learning.
That realization hit colder than the pain.
It stepped in.
No hesitation this time.
Final strike.
Everything behind it.
I lifted my hands.
No plan.
No technique.
Just—
stop
Silence.
No impact.
No sound.
No pain.
I opened my eyes slowly.
My arms were still raised.
But the thing—
hung in front of me.
Mid-motion.
Perfectly still.
Not falling.
Not advancing.
Just… suspended.
Its form twisted, edges glitching harder now, like something was resisting it from every direction.
But it couldn't move forward.
The hallway went completely quiet.
Even the lights held steady.
My breathing sounded too loud.
Too human.
I wasn't touching it.
I wasn't pushing.
I was just—
holding it there.
And somehow—
that was enough.
A slow realization settled in, heavy and undeniable.
It wasn't that I had blocked the attack.
It wasn't even that I had survived it.
When I wanted it to stop—
it stopped.