Nothing had weight anymore. Not the floor. Not the air. Not even my body.
I opened my eyes— But maybe they were already open. I was in a white room.
No walls. No ceiling. Just void.
Then—a chair appeared. Mr. Thorne sat on it.
Alive. Smiling faintly. Still in his hospital gown.
> "I warned you," he said, crossing one leg. "But you were too busy writing your ending."
I blinked. He leaned forward.
> "Qu," he whispered. "You created all of us. All of this. Because you couldn't live with the real ending."
---
The ground rippled. Images flickered around me:
Eli. Nathan. Fairhill.
But now, they cracked like glass. Behind them: a dim hospital wing. A bed with restraints. A clipboard with the name: Qussai A.
I backed away. Mr. Thorne stood.
> "You hid behind voices, made meaning out of shadows. But deep down, you knew. That the story you were writing... was the one you were trying to escape from."
He handed me a mirror. I didn't want to look. But I did.
Not my face. Not Eli. Not Nathan.
A child. Eyes wide. Mouth stitched shut in terror. Behind him: The cave. The man. The knife.
---
> "You locked that boy away," Thorne said. "And built worlds to drown his scream."
I fell to my knees.
> "You remember now," a voice said.
It wasn't Thorne. It wasn't Eli or Nathan.
It was him. The man. Older. Polished. Respected. But his voice was the same.
> "They believed me. The board. The press. The parents. All of them." "And your little fantasy world? That was adorable."
He knelt down beside me. Reached into his coat. Pulled out the dagger. The same one from Petra.
I couldn't move. I was the boy again.
> "Say it," he hissed. "Say nothing. Like before."
Thorne tried to scream. But the world muted.
I looked up. At my reflection. At Eli. At Nathan.
They weren't speaking. They were waiting.
Waiting to see what I would do.
I stood.
My hands shook. But my voice didn't.
> "You don't get to finish the story."
He laughed.
> "What are you going to do?"
I didn't answer. I took the mirror. I turned it.
And watched as the image swallowed him whole. The man. The knife. The silence.
He vanished into his own reflection.
---
The walls returned. The hospital lights flickered back to life. The alarm sounded. People shouting in the background. Footsteps.
But I wasn't there anymore. Not really.
I stood on the edge of a cliff. Beneath me: A city made of mirrors. A world that listened.
I saw Eli and Nathan beside me. Not real—but not gone.
And I stepped forward. Not falling. Not flying. Just letting go.
---
Some say I vanished. Others say I burned the place down. The staff called it a tragedy. The press said I snapped.
But the patients still whisper. About the boy who saw through time. Who remembered too much. And who let the story speak for itself.
And Mr. Thorne? They say he left a note before he died. Just three words:
> "The throne's empty."
---
And me?
I never spoke again.
Not in this world. Not in the next.
Because...
I'm the one who stayed silent.
---
THE END.