Lex lay on the battered old couch, staring at the cracked ceiling. The overhead fan clicked with every lazy spin, a tired heartbeat for a house that hadn't felt alive since Rose was here.
He shifted, pain flaring where bruised ribs pressed against the sagging cushions. The fabric still smelled faintly of cheap lavender detergent — the kind Rose used to buy in bulk, swearing it was "good enough." This was her couch, really. She'd sprawled here for movie nights, dozed here when she didn't want to face her own bed, hummed half-remembered songs with the TV flickering in the background.
Now it was just a grave he couldn't throw out.
On the low coffee table in front of him, the fragment sat like an unblinking eye. Small. Dark. Cold. Sometimes, when he let himself doze, he swore he felt it hum. A heartbeat that wasn't his, but one that anchored him all the same. He didn't know what to do with it — bury it, smash it, swallow it whole.
A knock startled him upright. He winced at the stab of pain, clutching his ribs as he sat forward. Three soft taps, hesitant. He squinted at the door through the thin light seeping past the drawn curtains.
Lex dragged himself up, pipe in hand — the same one he'd used on loan sharks long before shadows ever became his problem. He cracked the door open to find Mrs. Raut from next door.
"Evening, Lex," she said, voice muffled by the wind in the hall. She was bundled in a shawl that looked older than him. "You... haven't seen my cat, have you? She's been missing since morning. And, well, the lights went out in my kitchen again. Do you have an extra candle?"
Lex blinked. Normal life, clawing its way in. He caught his reflection in her wide eyes — the bruise at his temple, the faint smudge of dried blood by his collarbone. He tried to smile, failed.
"Sorry, Mrs. Raut. No cat. And I'm out of candles."
She lingered a moment, glancing past his shoulder at the couch, the blanket still thrown over the arm. Her eyes softened, but she didn't say Rose's name. She just gave a stiff nod and murmured, "Well, be safe, alright? Strange noises last night. Be careful, Lex."
He closed the door gently, leaning his forehead against the wood for a breath he didn't have. The echo of normal life faded with her footsteps. The house fell quiet again.
Hours later, the knock returned. Harder this time — three firm raps that carried no neighborly worry.
Lex grabbed the pipe and opened the door a crack. John stood there, backlit by the flickering hallway bulb, coat collar turned up against the chill. He stepped inside before Lex could stop him, eyes flicking around the wrecked living room.
Lex scowled, pipe still in hand. "You can appear out of thin air when you feel like it. Why even bother knocking?"
John paused, shrugged off a few raindrops from his collar. "Common decency," he said dryly. "And your front door squeaks like hell. Figured you deserved the courtesy."
He dropped a cheap grocery bag on the table next to the fragment, the plastic crinkling loud in the silence.
"Still alive," John added, voice neutral. "Good."
Lex's eyes darted to the bag — stale bread, canned soup, a bottle of cheap water. He scowled. "What's this? Pity rations?"
John pulled out a chair and sat, his eyes settling on the couch like he knew exactly who used to live there too. "Insurance," he said. "You're no good to me half-dead and starving. Eat or don't. Doesn't change my day."
Lex hesitated, glancing at the fragment. As if on cue, it pulsed faintly — just once, a cold tickle in his chest. John noticed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a thin smile playing at his mouth.
"You know it's not just a rock, right?"
Lex glared at him, torn between hunger and suspicion. His stomach made the choice for him. He tore off a piece of bread, chewing it with slow defiance.
John leaned back, watching him eat like a man studying an animal at the edge of the snare. He reached out, tapped the fragment with a knuckle. It made a soft, metallic click.
"You have no idea what you're holding."
Lex swallowed the bread, ignored the lump in his throat. "Then why don't you enlighten me?"
John's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I will. In time."
Outside, rain started tapping at the window, soft at first, then harder — like the world was scratching to be let in. Lex leaned back on the couch — Rose's couch — the fragment humming on the table like a secret waiting to wake up.
Far below the ocean's black mouth, the inverted tower pulsed with forgotten power and restless murmurs. In its hollow veins, machines stirred like slumbering beasts, and something older than hunger slipped between the shadows — coiling upward, patient and unseen, already reaching for the man who didn't yet know he was chosen.
Lex closed his eyes. For a moment, he could almost feel Rose's warmth beside him, just an echo of better nights. Then the hum from the fragment called him back — a heartbeat that was not his but might soon be all he had left.