He walked through the school gates just after sunrise, hoping no one would notice him.
The courtyard was half-lit, the sky still dusted in pinks and gray. The statue of Saint Catherine stood as always, hand raised in welcome—or warning. It was hard to tell.
Elias kept his head down.
His coat still smelled faintly of smoke.
His sleeves were stiff from ash.
He hadn't slept.
He couldn't.
He had replayed the night a dozen times. The Codex. The mark. The voice.
And that door, closing behind him.
It wasn't just a dream.
The ache in his bones proved that.
The system's voice proved that.
Even now, it lingered. Quiet. Watching.
"Fracture integrity: stabilizing."
"Synchronization: 3%."
He clenched his teeth and walked faster.
There were no police outside the old library wing.
No yellow tape.
No fire report.
No crater in the stone floor.
The blackout shutters were down, but otherwise, the building looked untouched. As if nothing had happened at all.
And no one was talking about it.
He passed two juniors near the vending machine. They nodded politely but said nothing. Not even a "where were you?"
It felt wrong.
Like the world had blinked, and when it opened its eyes again, something had been erased.
Literature class was first.
He slipped into his usual seat in the second row. Some students looked up—then back down.
He caught a whisper.
"Didn't see him yesterday…"
"Maybe he was sick?"
"Doesn't look sick."
He kept his gaze on the desk. The edges were scratched with names from years of boredom. One corner had the word "remember" carved into it, half-faded.
He stared at it until the words on the whiteboard blurred.
His right arm burned.
Not painfully. But there was a pulse now—a slow, rhythmic warmth under the skin. Like a second heart. Like something was alive in there.
And it was spreading.
He curled his fingers into a fist under the desk.
"Containment subroutine failing."
"Stabilization advised."
He ignored it.
Halfway through the lesson, Professor Dallin called on him to read.
Elias stood. His voice didn't shake, but something in the way he spoke made a few heads turn. Too clear. Too… sharp.
When he sat down, someone near the back coughed, then muttered, "What's with his eyes?"
He blinked.
Nothing in the mirror this time. No glow.
But they were watching now. He felt it.
Between classes, Elias slipped into the restroom. The light above the mirror flickered as he entered.
He locked the door, rolled up his right sleeve.
The mark was still there.
Thin black veins branching from the inside of his elbow, curling around his forearm. They pulsed faintly—visible only if he looked closely. Like heat shimmer under the skin.
He pressed a hand to the sink.
"You're fraying."
"You're not made to hold this."
He whispered, "Shut up."
"But you want it, don't you?"
"Just a little more."
He shut his eyes.
The mirror didn't show anything wrong.
Except his own face.
It didn't look tired.
It looked… focused.
Too focused.
He turned away.
When he exited the restroom, someone was standing near the locker
A girl. Tall. Black jacket. Braid down one shoulder.
It was her again. The one from Literature class.
She looked at him.
Not curious. Not afraid.
Just looking.
"Are you alright?" she asked.
Elias didn't answer.
"Because you weren't here yesterday," she said. "And now… you look different."
He tried to walk past her.
She didn't stop him.
But as he passed, she added softly:
"You shouldn't be here."
And walked the other way.