The door clicked shut, and Andrew leaned against it. The shadows of the room swallowed up the calm smile on his face.
Everything's going according to plan, he thought.
But… what was the plan again?
Pieces of memory slid back into his head.
Flashback – That Morning
The sunlight had been soft and golden, slipping through the curtains like it was in no hurry. Andrew sat at the dining table with the diary in front of him. The thing looked normal enough—just a book—but every time he stared at it, it felt heavier than it should. He hadn't gone to school that day. Not because he wanted to slack, but because something bigger was waiting.
His dad walked in, calm like usual, though his eyes gave away something sharper. He nodded at the diary.
"Still staring at it?"
Andrew looked up. "Dad… I need answers. What is this thing, really? Why does it feel like it's controlling everything?"
His dad exhaled, pulling out the chair across from him. "I told you before—it's not ordinary. It's been in our family's shadow for a long time. But I don't know the whole truth."
Andrew frowned. "Then who does?"
For a moment his father just tapped his fingers on the table, thinking. Then he finally said, "There's one man. My old friend. Mr. Brook."
"Mr. Brook?" Andrew repeated.
"Yes. He studied these kinds of things—books, artifacts, stories. If anyone knows, it's him."
Andrew leaned forward, heartbeat quickening. "So can we go see him?"
"That's the plan. That's why you're not going to school today. Get ready. We're driving out to the countryside."
Within half an hour, Andrew was in the passenger seat, the diary stuffed in his backpack. The city streets blurred into wide fields and quiet roads. The only sound was the steady hum of the car.
Andrew stared out the window, his mind circling around the words burned into his brain. Don't let her die.
His dad finally broke the silence. "Andrew, whatever Brook tells you, remember this—knowledge is power. The more you understand the diary, the better chance you have of using it. But it's going to test you."
Andrew tightened his grip on his bag straps. "I'll handle it."
By late morning, they reached a countryside house, simple but solid, with tall grass swaying around it. There was a small garden by the porch, filled with herbs and flowers.
His dad knocked. After a moment, the door opened to reveal a tall man with silver hair and sharp eyes.
"John?" the man said, recognizing him immediately. His gaze shifted to Andrew. "And this must be your boy."
Andrew's father smiled faintly. "Brook. Been a long time. We need to talk."
Inside, the house smelled of wood and old paper. Books lined the walls, piles of notes scattered across a large table.
Brook's eyes fell on Andrew's backpack. "You didn't bring it here, did you?"
Andrew hesitated, then pulled the diary out and placed it on the table.
Brook's face changed instantly. His composure slipped into shock. "Good heavens," he whispered. "I never thought I'd see this again."
His father gave a small nod. "He found it. Or… it found him."
Brook touched the edges of the diary like it was fragile. "So it's returned." He looked Andrew straight in the eyes. "Do you have any idea what you're holding?"
Andrew shook his head. "Not really. That's why I'm here. Please—just tell me what it is."
Brook sat back, folding his hands. "This diary doesn't predict the future the way people imagine. It doesn't write destiny. What it shows is possibility."
Andrew frowned. "Possibility?"
"Exactly. If something appears in the diary, it means it's become very probable. Not guaranteed—but highly likely, usually within a certain period of time."
Andrew leaned forward. "What kind of period?"
"Thirty days," Brook said firmly. "Anything written here usually happens within thirty days. That's the pattern."
Andrew's chest tightened. He did the math in his head. "It's already been a week since I read those words—Save Her.That means—"
"You have twenty-three days left?" Brook finished.
Andrew nodded, panic rising. "What if I don't make it? What if Grace—"
"Calm yourself," Brook interrupted. "There's more you need to hear."
Andrew froze.
"The diary resets," Brook explained. "Every time new words appear, the thirty-day clock resets from that moment. It doesn't matter what came before."
Andrew's eyes widened. "So… a couple days ago new text showed up. That means—"
"You've got a fresh thirty days," Brook said with a small smile.
Andrew let out a shaky laugh, relief flooding in. "So Grace still has time."
"Time, yes," Brook said. "But don't confuse time with safety. The diary doesn't show certainties—it shows probabilities. Danger. If you want to save her, you need to stay sharp."
Andrew nodded hard. "I will."
They talked for another hour. Brook explained what he knew: past owners, strange accidents, people who tried to ignore it and paid the price. He called the diary a gift, but also a curse. In the end, he gripped Andrew's shoulder firmly.
"You're young, but you've got courage. Remember—possibility, not certainty. The diary warns, but it doesn't control you."
Andrew held the diary close to his chest. "Thank you, sir."
His dad shook Brook's hand. "You've given him hope. That means everything."
They stepped back into the afternoon sun. The air felt cleaner, sharper somehow. Andrew slid into the car with the diary on his lap, heavier than before but also clearer in purpose.
The drive home was quiet until his dad asked, "What's on your mind?"
Andrew turned to him. "If the diary shows what's probable… then I need to change those probabilities. I can't just wait. I need to act."
His father nodded. "That's the right way to think."
Andrew looked out at the horizon, the sky glowing orange. His grip on the diary tightened. I'll protect Grace, he promised. No matter what. This time, I'll be ready.
The road stretched long and endless, and in his chest, the outline of a plan was beginning to take shape.
To be continued…