The morning drifted into Caelum's apartment like a reluctant guest, weak sunlight slipping through half-closed blinds. Dust floated in the beams, soft and quiet, like the air itself was holding its breath around him.
Caelum sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on the floorboards. The events of the previous night still pulsed in the back of his mind—Tavian's questions, Dr. Ashcroft's sharp stare, the way the cup had vanished as if afraid to be seen by him.
He raised his hand slowly.
Fingers steady.Palm relaxed.No intention behind it… yet.
A faint hum rose in his ears, a pressure building behind his eyes. The air rippled—the same way it had yesterday—like reality itself was swallowing nervously.
Caelum closed his fist, and the feeling stopped.
He exhaled."Not again," he whispered. "Not unless I have to."
A soft chime came from the kitchen counter—his comm-screen flashing an incoming message. Caelum forced himself to stand and walk toward it, shaking the last of the haze from his thoughts.
Tavian:
yo you alive?
dr. ash wants us early. some anomaly reading near the westline sector.
also bring coffee please i beg u
Caelum couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at his mouth. Tavian had a gift for pulling a person's mind back to earth, even when everything felt unsteady.
He typed back:
Caelum:
I'll bring the coffee. Tell Dr. Ashcroft I'll be there.
He hesitated before sending it.His reflection glinted in the surface of the screen—a faint distortion passing over his features. A shiver climbed his spine.
He blinked, and the glass returned to normal.
"Just tired," he muttered. "That's all."
The Westline Transit Hub
Westline smelled like rust and ozone—machines and mag-rails and too many people trying to get somewhere else. Caelum stepped off the tram with two coffees in hand and scanned the crowd.
Tavian spotted him first, practically jogging across the platform.
"You're a saint," Tavian declared, snatching his cup with reverence. "Dr. Ashcroft's in one of his 'my brain is the only functional organ in this entire city' moods. Tread carefully."
Caelum huffed. "He's always in that mood."
"Okay, true," Tavian admitted. "But today it's worse."
As if summoned, Dr. Vireen Ashcroft appeared through the station doors—long coat sweeping behind him, dark hair slightly unkempt, eyes sharp with the kind of intensity that made people move out of his way without realizing why.
"Caelum," he said briskly. "Good. We're starting immediately."
No greeting.No good morning.Classic Dr. Ashcroft.
He handed Caelum a thin datapad containing anomaly readings. The numbers across the screen jumped and twisted in patterns Caelum had never seen before.
"What am I looking at?" Caelum asked.
Vireen's jaw tightened. "Disturbances in spatial resonance. Something is… erasing things. Cleanly. Without trace."
Tavian raised a brow. "Like people?"
"Objects," Vireen said. "But the signature is too controlled for environmental decay or tech-malfunction."
Caelum froze.
Controlled.Erasing.The exact phenomenon that followed him like a shadow.
Vireen didn't notice the tension in his shoulders—not yet. He continued:
"Whatever caused this, it's precise. Intentional."His eyes narrowed."And it's getting stronger."
The Alley
The anomaly site was cordoned off by City Enforcement tape, though no officers were in sight—Ashcroft's authorization had cleared the area for them alone.
It was a narrow alley behind a row of old shops. Quiet. Unremarkable. Except for the missing pieces of the world.
Caelum felt it the second he stepped inside.
A wrongness.Like walking on a floor you suddenly realized wasn't stable.
Black markings scarred the brick walls—shapes like shadows burned into place. Small items were gone entirely: a trash bin missing its lid, a ladder with a rung erased, pieces of gravel absent from the ground as if plucked by invisible fingers.
Vireen crouched beside a warped patch of pavement. "There," he said, tapping the datapad. "The epicenter."
Caelum stared at it, heartbeat rising.
It looked exactly like the place where the cup had vanished.
"What do you think caused this?" Tavian asked.
Vireen didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted upward, thoughtful, calculating.
Then he said:
"There's a theory… that anomalies like this are linked to individuals. Gifted ones. We don't understand the mechanism yet, but—"
He looked at Caelum.
Right at him.
"—it requires incredible precision. And power."
Caelum swallowed.
Vireen studied him for a moment too long, as if waiting for something—an admission, a slip, a spark. Then he turned away and continued analyzing the wall.
Tavian nudged Caelum lightly. "Don't mind him. He suspects everyone. It's just his thing."
Caelum forced a nod.
But inside, something was unraveling.
He could feel it humming beneath his skin.A presence.A whisper that wasn't a voice but felt like one:
You did this.
He clenched his jaw.
No.He didn't lose control.He didn't cause this.
He wouldn't.
The Reflection
As Vireen and Tavian worked, Caelum moved deeper into the alley, drawn to a cracked mirror discarded against the wall.
He stopped in front of it.
His reflection stared back—same eyes, same breath, same dark hair falling across his forehead. But behind his reflection… something moved.
A silhouette.Featureless.Shifting.Almost human.Almost him.
The air tightened around him.
The mirror trembled.
Caelum stepped back instinctively—just as the glass rippled outward like a disturbed pond.
A black tendril of formless shadow pressed against the inside of the mirror, trying to reach out—
"Caelum? You good?"
Tavian's voice snapped the moment in half.
Caelum looked again.
The mirror was still.Normal.Nothing inside.
He forced a breath.
"Yeah," he said quietly. "Just… tired."
But the trembling in his fingers said otherwise.
And somewhere in the depth of the glass, faint and almost invisible, the silhouette watched him retreat.
It smiled without a mouth.