"Hello?"
"Cael?" A man's voice answered. He sounded tired. There was a slight hesitation there, like he wasn't sure he should be calling me.
"Yes?"
"This is Nate's father."
The room felt colder in an instant.
"He didn't come home," he continued. "I thought… maybe he was with you."
My eyes slid to the clock hanging on the wall.
9:47 PM.
What is that idiot doing at this hour?
My brain immediately started scrambling for excuses, almost on instinct. Internet café. Arcade. Anywhere that wasn't the truth. I knew where he actually was. Or at least, I thought I did. I didn't really know. But there was only one place that made sense. Only one place he'd talked about that afternoon.
And I definitely couldn't say that to Mr. Richard.
Words piled up in my head, tripping over each other, fighting to get out.
But in the end, my mouth betrayed me.
Not with the excuse I'd prepared. Not even something safe.
"…Yes," I said. "He was with me."
The lie came out too easily.
That bothered me more than the lie itself.
I didn't have any obligation to cover for him. I could've said I didn't know. I could've said Nate hadn't told me anything. That would've been the smartest answer. I was thinking of saying that.
And yet somehow, I'd decided to say he was here.
I didn't know why.
Now it was too late to take it back, so I stuck with it.
I didn't even know where Nate actually was. I only had a guess. A bad one. Chances were he was still in that old building, with that book. Doing something he shouldn't be doing.
And here I was, covering for him.
It felt wrong. Not because I was lying. I wasn't against lying. But this one felt different. Like I'd signed something without reading the terms. Like it would come back at the worst possible moment and remind me I'd agreed to it.
I couldn't shake the feeling, so I tried to empty my mind.
I stared at the ceiling while I listened. Not because I wanted to, but because it was the only direction that didn't pull something loose in my chest. There was a thin crack above the light fixture. I'd never noticed it before. I traced it with my eyes while waiting.
Silence.
Long enough that I wondered if the call had ended. I was just about to turn my phone screen on to check.
Then I heard it.
A slow breath.
Relief.
"I see," Nate's father said at last. The sharp edge in his voice dulled, replaced by exhaustion.
"Please tell him to come home soon."
"I will."
Another pause. Shorter this time.
The call ended.
I didn't move.
Still lying on the bed, I replayed the sentence in my head.
He's here.
Over and over. Each time it sounded less like a statement and more like a receipt I hadn't meant to keep.
What do I do now?
It was already almost ten. If I was going to find him, the best-case scenario was the old building. That was where Nate had said he was going that afternoon.
Best case.
After a few more minutes of pointless thinking, I stood.
I left my room, went downstairs, and reached the first floor. The café lights were still on. My mom was behind the counter, wiping a cup.
"Where are you going at this hour?" she asked, without looking up.
"Just… getting some fresh air."
She glanced at the clock, then at me. "Don't stay out late."
"I won't."
I didn't promise.
Outside, the night felt normal. Maybe a bit colder, but still close enough to normal that it felt unfair. I walked while my mind kept running in circles.
Find Nate. Drag him home. That was the plan.
But what if he wasn't there?
What if he was somewhere else? Somewhere I didn't know about?
What would I tell Mr. Richard if I couldn't find him, after saying he was with me?
Without realizing it, I reached for my phone and opened Nate's contact.
I called.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
Bzzz.
No answer.
That made sense. Mr. Richard wouldn't have called me if Nate was reachable.
I kept calling. Messaging. Spamming.
Nothing.
Several minutes passed before I reached the school.
The gate was closed. Of course it was. There was no reason for it to be open at night. I nudged it anyway, just to be sure. Locked.
No way in.
Then an old memory surfaced. Not that old, actually. Maybe three months ago.
"Look here."
A girl's voice.
Nate and I had walked over, and Selene was standing there. Silver hair. Golden eyes. Pointing at a crack in the wall, just big enough for someone to squeeze through.
"What's up?" Nate asked.
"Here, here… look at this," she said. "I found it while walking."
It didn't make sense. Of all people, Selene finding this place? She was eccentric, sure. Drawn to strange things. But this felt more like something Nate would discover.
"This connects to the back alley behind the school," she'd said.
"I think we can use it if the gate's unusable."
I remember thinking we'd never need it. The school was always open. And even if it wasn't, why would we ever come here at night?
Right.
I crouched and slipped through the crack. It wasn't big enough to walk through, but I managed.
The old building loomed ahead, pressed against the main structure like it didn't belong.
I went inside.
It looked like something straight out of a horror movie. The kind where the protagonist enters and everything starts going wrong. I used to laugh at characters like that. Wonder why they were so stupid.
I'd always thought I'd keep my distance.
And here I was.
Inside, dust coated the floor just like before. But the silence was heavier now. Deliberate. I had the distinct feeling that if I stopped moving, something would be standing behind me.
So I didn't stop.
At the end of the corridor, the room Nate had pointed out before, I paused.
From inside, I heard Nate's voice.
And something else.
Presumably the book.
As I stepped closer, I knew it had noticed me.
[Disruption.]
I didn't need to ask who that was for.
I pushed the door open.
"Cael?" Nate turned, startled. "What are you doing here? You said you didn't want to come."
"Your father called me," I said. "He was asking where you were."
Nate blinked. "My father?"
Only then did he check his phone.
Twenty missed calls.
The color drained from his face. He glanced toward the window, then back at me, like time itself might be waiting somewhere nearby.
"…Crap," he muttered. "I didn't realize it was that late."
"I told him you were with me," I said. "You should go home. Now."
For a moment, he just stared.
Then he laughed. Weak. Breathless. Too fast.
"Man… thank you. Seriously."
He grabbed his bag and headed for the door.
And left.
I stood there, stunned. I wanted to follow him. To walk out together. To not be alone in that room.
But something shifted.
The pressure in the air tilted.
Not toward him.
Toward me.
[Inconvenience.]
The word was pressed deep into the open page. The paper bowed inward, like something heavier than ink was holding it down.
I didn't look away.
Nate peeked back through the doorway. "You coming?"
I glanced at the book. It sat perfectly still, like nothing had happened.
"In a minute," I said.
He nodded and left.
The door closed.
The sound was too soft.
The room felt smaller.
I took a step toward the exit, then stopped. My legs felt uncertain, like they'd briefly forgotten how weight worked.
The book lay open on the desk. Its pages fluttered slowly, though the air was still. Symbols crawled across the surface, dissolving and reforming with deliberate patience.
[This was not the intended course.]
My throat tightened. The pressure was unmistakable now.
It wasn't satisfied.
With me.
With what I'd done.
Taken Nate away.
"You never said he couldn't leave," I managed to say.
The page darkened.
[He was growing.]
The pressure returned. Subtle. Evaluative. Like fingers pressing along my ribs from the inside, counting.
[But you interrupted.]
The air thickened. I forced myself to breathe.
"He's being searched for," I said. "I came to help."
The symbols paused.
Then resumed.
Slower.
[Intent is irrelevant.]
The pressure eased slightly, but my knees still bent before I realized I was bracing.
"Then what do you want to do now?" My voice came out hoarse.
The book waited.
When it responded, the symbols formed carefully. Almost respectfully.
[You are not the chosen one.]
The pressure sharpened.
[You are statistically negligible.]
I stayed upright out of spite more than strength.
[But you are adjacent.]
The word lingered.
[Remain so.]
The symbols vanished.
The pressure withdrew, reluctantly.
My hands kept shaking even after the room pretended to be normal.
The book lay closed on the desk.
I stood there long after, listening to my breathing stumble back into rhythm.
Then the door opened again.
"You made me wait," Nate said.
I looked at him like he'd pulled me out of deep water.
Then the feeling soured.
He was also the reason I'd been drowning.
I ignored that and followed him out through the passage.
"Wow, this road really came in handy," Nate said.
"I know," I said. "When I saw the gate was closed, I didn't know what to do. Then I remembered Selene showing us this place."
"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Feels like yesterday."
He hesitated. "This kind of reminds me of something."
"What?"
"Selene used to say this path mattered," he said. "Guess she wasn't wrong."
I didn't think much of it at the time.
Only after we reached Nate's house did I finally breathe out.
That night, I couldn't sleep.
I kept thinking about the room. The silence. The way the pressure had turned toward me without hesitation.
The book hadn't attacked me.
It had categorized me.
Whatever it was, it understood how to deal with problems.
Which meant I wouldn't be dealt with quickly.
And somehow, that felt worse.