Sleep was supposed to bring rest.
But lately, for Zeke, it was a battlefield.
The cabin walls closed in like a cage, every creak and groan of the wood echoing too loud in the silence.
Maya had finally drifted off on the couch, curled under a blanket, her face softened by sleep. Cadmen sat by the fire, chin to chest, shotgun across his lap, dozing but still looking like he could spring awake at any second.
Zeke lay in the upstairs room, staring at the ceiling, his heartbeat loud enough to feel in his teeth.
Zara's words kept replaying.
You feel it too, don't you? The rush. The heat. The part of you that wants to stop fighting and just let go.
He squeezed his eyes shut, but that only made it worse. Because behind his eyelids, Harbinger was waiting.
The Whisper
It started as a hum at the back of his skull, a vibration deep in his bones. Not loud, not clear—just a presence, patient and heavy.
Then, like water seeping through cracks, came the voice.
They're lying to you.
Zeke's breath caught. He turned onto his side, clutching the blanket.
They tell you to fight me. To starve me. But they can't feel what you feel. They don't know how strong we are together.
He pressed his palms to his ears like that could block it out. But it wasn't sound. It was inside him. A shadow threaded through his nerves.
"No," he whispered, his throat tight. "I'm not listening."
The whisper chuckled—low, warm, too familiar.
You already are.
The Dream
He must have dozed, because suddenly he was somewhere else.
Not the cabin. Not the forest.
A city. Dark and burning. Buildings toppled in the distance, the air thick with smoke. People running, screaming, their faces blurred like smudged paint, and in the center of it all—himself.
Zeke stood on cracked pavement, his hands glowing with a light so fierce it hurt to look at. Except it wasn't just light—it was fire, shadow, static. Energy that pulsed and snapped like it had a heartbeat of its own.
Harbinger stood beside him. Same face. Same body. Only sharper, crueler. Eyes like black stars.
"You see it now," Harbinger said, his smile all teeth. "This is what happens when you stop holding back."
Zeke shook his head. "No—this isn't real."
"Real enough," Harbinger said, stepping closer. "You think Cadmen can protect them when this breaks free? You think Maya can save you from me? Look around, Zeke. This is what happens when you deny what you are."
Zeke stumbled back, but his dream-self—his other self—stood tall, watching the destruction like a king admiring his kingdom.
And worst of all…
Somewhere deep down, it felt right.
Waking up, he jolted upright with a gasp, sweat cold on his skin. Dawn light filtered weak through the window.
Maya stirred downstairs. Cadmen shifted in his chair. Normal sounds. Safe sounds.
But Zeke didn't feel safe.
He felt… hungry.
The tether burned under his skin, a low thrum that begged to be fed. Every breath felt too shallow, every heartbeat too fast.
And underneath it all, the echo of Zara's smirk.
At least I'm honest about it.
The Rift
By midday, his nerves were frayed raw.
Cadmen had him out in the clearing, practicing control drills. Simple stuff—breathing exercises, focus, grounding.
"Again," Cadmen barked.
Zeke clenched his fists, trying to pull energy into his palms, shape it, release it. The light flickered, then sputtered out.
"Again."
"I'm trying!" Zeke snapped. The words came sharp, angrier than he meant.
Cadmen's eyes narrowed. "Trying isn't enough."
Something inside Zeke cracked. "Then maybe your methods aren't enough!"
The silence that followed was heavy. Maya froze mid-step, arms full of firewood, watching from the cabin steps.
Cadmen lowered the shotgun he always carried during training. His voice was calm, too calm. "That thing inside you wants out. If you give in, even once, it will burn everything you care about. Including her." He nodded toward Maya.
Zeke's jaw clenched. He wanted to believe Cadmen. He wanted to trust.
But Zara's voice coiled tighter in his skull.
They want you weak. They want you afraid. I want you free.
Confession
That night, Maya found him by the creek behind the cabin, skipping stones. Or trying to. His hands shook too much.
She sat beside him, hugging her knees. "You're quiet."
"I'm always quiet," he muttered.
"Not like this."
For a while, neither of them spoke. The water gurgled past, carrying the stones downstream.
Finally, Zeke said, "What if she's right?"
Maya's head snapped up. "Who—Zara?"
"She said…" He swallowed, words heavy. "She said I feel it. And she's not wrong. There's this… part of me. When it surges, it feels—" he broke off, shame heating his face.
"Feels what?" Maya pressed gently.
"Good," he whispered. "It feels good. Like I'm more than just some scared kid. Like I could finally… breathe."
Maya reached for his hand, but he pulled away.
"Zeke—"
"No, you don't get it!" he said, voice cracking. "You're not the one with something inside you, whispering every second of every day. You're not the one dreaming about cities burning."
Her silence was answer enough.
Zeke turned back to the water, his chest tight.
And in the reflection, for just a heartbeat, he saw Harbinger staring back. Smiling.
The Breaking Point
By the time they returned to the cabin, night was thick again. Cadmen was waiting at the door, eyes like stormclouds.
"You can't let her words get to you," he said bluntly. "Zara thrives on cracks. She finds them. She widens them. And then she breaks you with them."
Zeke wanted to argue. He wanted to say he wasn't broken.
But the truth was, he wasn't sure anymore.
Because Zara hadn't lied.
Not really.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.