The next morning, sunlight spilled across the kitchen, painting everything in a warm golden glow.
Talia sat at the table, still in pajamas, watching as Adrian moved around the kitchen with practiced ease. He flipped pancakes in the pan, his sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from sleep. He looked so normal. So domestic.
Ethan sat across from her, swinging his little legs under the table as he attacked a bowl of cereal. "Daddy makes the best pancakes," he declared proudly, milk dripping down his chin.
Adrian chuckled. "Flattery will get you extra syrup, kiddo."
Talia couldn't stop staring.
Adrian smiled in a way she had almost forgotten existed. Carefree. Gentle. The kind of smile that wasn't hardened by blood or shadowed by war. And when his eyes met hers over the steaming pancakes, something warm bloomed in her chest.
She quickly looked down at her plate, embarrassed by the fluttering in her stomach.
"Eat before it gets cold," Adrian said softly, sliding a plate in front of her.
She picked up her fork, cheeks warm. "Thanks."
The pancake was fluffy, sweet, and warm against her tongue. It tasted like home. A home she never thought she'd have.
Throughout the day, Talia found herself blending into the rhythm of this life.
Ethan tugged her hand as they strolled through the park together, his laughter filling the air. She held his small fingers tightly, pretending that he really was Kai, and that everything she'd been through had been nothing more than a bad dream.
Adrian walked beside her, one hand brushing hers now and then. Every accidental touch sent sparks racing up her arm. He told corny jokes, carried Ethan on his shoulders when the boy got tired, and looked at her like she was his whole world.
And when they came home that afternoon, he caught her by the wrist before she could walk past him.
"Talia," he said, voice low.
She froze, heart thundering in her chest. "…Yes?"
His hand lingered just above hers, hesitant, but his gaze was steady. "I don't know what you're remembering or what you've forgotten. But even if you don't recall everything… we'll make new memories together. Okay?"
Talia's lips parted, her throat dry. For a moment, she couldn't breathe. The tenderness in his eyes was overwhelming.
Slowly, she nodded. "...Okay."
He smiled, soft and warm, then leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead.
The world felt steady. Safe. Whole.
And Talia's heart beat faster for him. For Adrian. For Lev. For both.
She didn't know which.
But for the first time in so long, she let herself be happy.
Even if, deep down, that faint thrum of wrongness still whispered at the edge of her heart.
The next day at the café, Talia found herself behind the counter, wiping down tables while Adrian charmed the customers. The place was lively, fresh bread in the oven, cheerful chatter, the hum of a normal life.
Yet… something gnawed at her.
This feels weird. She pressed a hand to her chest. Why don't I feel the system? Not even a flicker. But… maybe I'll get used to it.
She forced a smile as Adrian laughed with an elderly customer. His voice was warm, light, so different from the man she remembered battling through the apocalypse.
Then it happened.
The woman he was speaking to just for a heartbeat glitched.
Her body stuttered like a broken image, her smile warping too wide before snapping back to normal.
Talia froze, her rag slipping from her hands. "W-what was that…?"
The glitch flickered again.
This time the customer's face melted into something grotesque skin drooping, eyes hollow, her mouth tearing too wide into a grin that stretched impossibly.
The sound of laughter distorted, becoming a guttural echo.
Talia stumbled back. Her heart raced. "What the heck is going on?!"
The nightmare spread like a ripple. One by one, the other customers twitched and warped. Their features bled into darkness—faces melting into masks of shadow, eyeless voids staring at her. Mouths splitting, too many teeth, grins that reached their ears.
The air grew heavy, oppressive.
Her breath hitched as all of them turned toward her at once.
"Consume… your fantasies."
The voice slithered through the air, low and distorted, vibrating against her skull.
Talia clutched her head, gasping. "Stop—stop it!"
A hand grabbed her shoulder.
"Talia!" Adrian's voice cut through the nightmare.
She blinked. The shadows vanished. The café returned to normal. Customers were smiling, chatting, sipping their drinks as though nothing had happened.
Adrian's face hovered close, filled with concern. "Are you okay?"
Her lips trembled. "I… I'm fine…"
But when her gaze lifted to meet his,
for the briefest instant, his features twisted too. His warm smile stretched too wide, his eyes hollowing into endless pits.
And then, just as quickly, it was gone.
Normal. Perfect. Adrian again.
Talia's pulse thund
ered in her ears.
No… no, this world isn't real.
But the whisper lingered.
Consume your fantasies.
Back at home, Talia pressed her palms to her temples and breathed shallowly. The photos on the wall smiled at her with impossible cheerfulness.
I have to escape this place… what even is this place? she thought, voice small in the quiet room.
A soft knock sounded on her door. Adrian's voice followed. "Talia? You okay in there? You haven't been yourself lately."
She didn't answer at first. Her hands were still trembling.
The door opened and Adrian stepped in, carrying a folded towel. He looked worried, kind, everything this world promised. He crossed the room and set the towel on the chair, then reached toward her face as if to smooth a stray hair away.
Talia recoiled. Her heart slammed.
"Did I perhaps do something wrong?" he asked again, genuine concern folding his features into a mask she almost believed in.
She swallowed. "No...I… I'm sorry. It's just hard. I can't remember how life has been with you. I feel confused… I can't remember anything at all."
Adrian's expression shifted in a way that made something cold scrape down her spine. For a heartbeat it was gone, then he let out a small, quiet laugh that didn't reach his eyes.
"Or," he said, voice even and soft, "it's that you realized this isn't real."
The words landed like a chill. Adrian stepped closer, and the warmth in his face felt suddenly like stage lighting.
Talia's throat tightened. "What do you mean?"
He took her hand, but there was no tenderness left in the gesture. It was like the practiced touch of someone who knew every line in a play.
"You've been… slipping," he said. "You keep looking for something that isn't here. You keep searching for windows that won't open. It's tiring, Talia. You could rest. You could stay."
Her skin crawled. "Stay?" she echoed. "You mean… stay trapped?"
Adrian tilted his head, sadness softening him. "Is that such a bad thing? Out there..." he gestured vaguely, toward the world beyond the window..."is rough. Here is warm. Here is family. You don't have to fight anymore."
She thought of Kai's voice, of Lev's real face, of the café burning gold. The thread in her chest throbbed.
"No," she said, more steady than she felt. "This isn't my life."
Adrian's smile tightened until it looked practiced, like the final line of a play he'd memorized a thousand times.
"Then I can't have you ruin this perfect play," he said. The words were smooth; the warmth had drained from his voice.
Talia's stomach dropped. "What..."
Something in the air shifted. The lamplight leaned in, as if a stage spotlight had lowered itself from the ceiling. The photos on the wall seemed to tilt toward them, faces frozen into applause.
Adrian's jaw moved. For a heartbeat his skin quivered, and the warmth under his fingers felt like cloth stretched over something harder. Color bled out of his cheek, replaced by a pale, porcelain sheen. The lines at the corner of his mouth smoothed into a smile that never reached the eyes.
"You're tired," he murmured, taking a step closer. "You need to rest. Let me tuck you into the story."
His hand slid down, not tender now but sure. The room contracted; air thickened until each breath she drew tasted like cotton.
Talia stumbled back, grabbing the edge of the table. Her heart pounded so loud she thought it might burst. "No...please."
Adrian's eyes finally broke their human shape. The irises were too dark, the whites washed to a gray that reflected nothing. Behind them something like a stage-curtain shimmered, and for a sliver-second she heard, impossibly, the whisper of a crowded theater, an audience waiting for the final bow.
"You don't understand," he said, voice folding into a thousand layered echoes. "I am The Grand Director, the curator of perfect endings. I mend scenes. I close acts. You are… so very good in this role, Talia. Stay. Finish the play with me."
His fingers closed around her wrist. They were cold, like a prop's hand. Lights in the kitchen flared; the shadows that had seemed to hide in corners stretched and pooled at their feet, forming the suggestion of a mask with empty eyes and a grin too wide. The house hummed with an odd applause that she could feel under her skin.
Talia tugged; panic rose hot and thick in her throat. "Let me go... please " Her voice came out small, strangled.
The photos on the wall trembled. Ethan's sleeping face blurred for a heartbeat into a many-toothed smile and then snapped back. The world around her stuttered, like a film skipping.
She beat at Adrian's hand, desperate, fingers clawing at him. He didn't flinch. Instead his face tilted toward hers, close enough that she could see the edges of porcelain cracking like a mask.
"Don't fight," he crooned. "Resist and the scene frays. Relax, and the story folds around you like a blanket. Stay sleepy, Talia. Stay perfect."
The air pressed down. Her ears filled with a roaring that had nothing to do with sound, the mechanized whisper of gears winding a spool, closing a lid. Her vision tunneled at the edges; the photos flared into a halo of light and then winked out, one by one.
She shoved, and finally his grip loosened, only for a beat. He moved as if on stage cues, patient and gentle. Then, with a movement too smooth to be human, he reached for her throat.
Everything went wrong at once: the house lurched inward, the kitchen tiles rippled like dry skin, the clock on the wall sighed and stopped. Talia clutched at the air, lungs burning.
In the empty space where the system should have been, something tiny and distant rasped, a sound like a bell half-heard through a dream. She tried to call it, to open the window, to grab for the tether that had always been there. Her fingers closed on nothing. The system did not answer.
Adrian's face filled her vision... not quite human, not quite a thing she could name. His mouth opened, a practiced smile widening into an expression that showed far too many teeth.
"Finish the play," he whispered, and then he moved.
Talia's knees gave. She felt the world tilt away, the smell of garlic and onions dissolving into salt and old paper. Her last coherent thought was of Kai's small hand, of Lev's real hard hand, of the café's warm golden pulse. 'I need to find a way out of this place...'
Blackness swallowe
d the room.
For a single heartbeat after she went under, the faint sound she'd heard before the system trying to call, rang again, thinner, like someone hammering a distant glass. Then even that faded.