The flash still burned behind Liam's eyes.
He didn't move for nearly a minute, just stood at the window, breath fogging the glass. The rain had turned heavier now each drop tapping against the pane like fingertips.
He whispered, "Who's there?"
No answer. Only the low hum of the campus generator somewhere beyond the trees.
He stepped back, heart hammering. Maybe it was lightning. Maybe a reflection from a car. Maybe.
Stop.
He shook his head hard. Paranoia had been clawing at him for days, maybe weeks. But the flash had felt too deliberate, too close.
He turned off the lamp and waited in the dark, eyes adjusting to the faint light leaking in from outside. The streetlamp across the courtyard flickered twice, then steadied.
"Get a grip," he muttered, dragging his hands through his hair. "Just your mind playing games."
But the silence that followed wasn't normal silence it was thick, full, humming faintly.
He moved toward his desk, opened the duffel bag, and took out the small glass vial. Its liquid caught the weak light like molten silver.
Even when still, it seemed to move slow spirals forming and collapsing inside the glass.
The hum got louder.
Liam pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead. "You're not real," he said softly.
The hum pulsed once, as if answering.
He didn't sleep. By dawn, he was sitting at his desk, staring at the blinds. The outside world was waking up car doors slamming, voices echoing faintly but everything still felt unreal, like sound underwater.
His phone buzzed on the desk. He jumped.
Unknown number: You were seen.
He froze. His pulse spiked so fast it hurt.
He typed back: Who is this?
No reply.
He waited five minutes. Ten. Nothing.
Finally, he threw the phone across the room. It hit the wall and fell behind the dresser, screen going dark.
By late morning, Liam forced himself to practice. He told himself movement would help, that the noise inside him might quiet down if he focused on something normal.
But the field didn't look normal.
It was empty too empty and the mist made the world around him fade into pale gray. Every sound seemed amplified: his shoes against the gravel, the snap of his glove, even his breathing.
He tried to warm up. His first pitch went wide. So did the second.
The third hit the backstop so hard it made him flinch.
He stared at his hands. They were shaking.
He dropped the ball, wiped sweat from his forehead even though the air was cold.
Then, from behind him, came a faint metallic click.
He turned sharply.
No one was there only the chain-link fence and the steady drizzle.
He scanned the bleachers. Every row was empty except for one corner seat, where a small puddle shimmered with an odd silver reflection, like the liquid in his vial.
He blinked and it was gone. Just rain.
"I think I'm losing it," he whispered.
The hum began again, faint but rhythmic. It seemed to vibrate in his bones.
He pressed his fingers into his temples. "Shut up."
It didn't.
After practice, the locker room was empty. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Liam sat on the bench, towel around his shoulders, staring at the floor tiles.
He could feel it the weight of someone's eyes on him.
He looked up.The mirror over the sink was fogged, but through the mist, he thought he saw movement,a shape, watching him from behind his reflection.
He spun around. Nothing.
He turned back to the mirror.
The condensation had shifted, forming words so faint he almost missed them: "We see you."
He wiped the surface with his hand. The words vanished.
He stood there breathing hard, towel slipping to the floor.
"I'm fine," he whispered to his reflection.
But even as he said it, he could feel something vibrating inside him a sound too low to hear, too constant to ignore.
That night, he sat in his car again, parked near the field.
He didn't remember deciding to drive there. He'd simply ended up in the driver's seat, engine idling, headlights off.
The rain had stopped, but fog clung to the ground, thin and milky. The floodlights from the baseball complex cut through it in long beams, slicing the air like knives.
He stared at the field until the lines blurred. His own reflection in the windshield stared back, pale and hollow-eyed.
Then the hum began again outside this time, near the fence.
He rolled down the window slowly. The sound grew clearer, mechanical but organic, like metal breathing.
"Who's there?" he called.
No answer.
He stepped out, gravel crunching under his shoes. The air smelled of wet asphalt and rust.
The hum was definitely coming from the dugout.
He approached cautiously, every muscle tense. The sound grew louder with each step, and then silence.
He stopped.
Something small and metallic glinted in the mud. He crouched, picked it up.
It was a piece of broken glass the same kind his vial was made of.
His throat tightened. He looked toward his car; through the fogged windshield, a faint red light blinked once, then twice.
Like a camera.
Liam dropped the glass and ran toward it. The light vanished.
When he reached the car, the passenger door was slightly opened . His duffel bag lay open on the seat.
Inside, the vial was gone.
For a long moment, he just stood there in the rain, chest heaving. Then he laughed low and broken.
"They want me to lose it," he said. "That's the plan."
But the more he said it, the less he believed it.
He drove back to his apartment fast, nearly skidding on the wet road. When he arrived, he didn't even turn on the lights. He searched the bag, the trunk, under the seats. Nothing.
The vial was truly gone.
He slumped against the door, mind racing. Someone had been there. Someone had taken it.
And that meant someone knew.
He walked to the sink, turned on the tap. Water gushed out,cold, harsh, louder than usual.
He cupped it in his hands to drink, but the moment it touched his lips, he gagged. The taste was metallic, like blood and battery acid.
He spat into the sink. The water shimmered silver for a second before swirling down the drain.
He stumbled backward, shaking his head. "No. No, no, no…"
Then, through the open window, he heard it again the hum, faint, distant, steady.
This time, he didn't run. He sat down on the floor, back against the wall, and let it fill the room.
It was in the air. In the pipes. In his pulse.
And as it grew louder, he whispered,
"Okay. I hear you."