Morning in the Merrow house came slow and soft. A breeze drifted through the half-open window. The smell of toast and something herbal brewing downstairs curled through the air.

  Kael sat at the table with a bowl of cereal he didn’t remember pouring. Annabelle yawned across from him, hair a mess, hoodie draped over one shoulder.

  They didn’t talk about the diner.

  Not because they didn’t want to—but because they couldn’t. The memory felt... fogged. Like something had slipped between the moments and scrubbed them clean.

  Kael had tried to replay it in his mind the night before—how the man bled, how the Spiral moved—but all he could summon now was static. Bright lights. Muffled shouting. Then nothing.

  Annabelle seemed the same. She squinted when he brought it up, shook her head. “I just remember being scared. Then home.”

  Harlin called from the front room. “Hey! Store run, you two! Gotta restock for tonight or Micah’s gonna eat drywall.”

  Annabelle groaned. “He’ll eat anything that looks like it has protein.”

  Kael stood and grabbed a jacket. “Guess we better save the walls.”

  The walk to the store was lazy and warm. Sun filtered through the trees above, casting long, dappled shadows across the sidewalk. Kael and Annabelle strolled side by side, arms occasionally brushing. Neither of them commented on it.

  “Remember when we used to walk this way after school?” Annabelle said. “When Micah got that horrible hoverboard and broke his collarbone trying to grind that rail?”

  Kael smirked. “He told everyone it was a combat training accident.”

  “He wore the sling for weeks even after he healed. Just for the sympathy points.”

  Kael laughed. “You bought it, though.”

  “I was ten!” she shot back, nudging his shoulder. “And I still remember you pretending not to care when he let you ride it.”

  Kael shrugged, half-smiling. “I didn’t care.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “You absolutely did. You sulked the whole day when it broke before your turn.”

  Kael didn’t argue. He just kept walking, a lightness in his chest that hadn’t been there in days. They weren’t at the academy. No guards, no simulations, no Spiral. Just her. Just this.

  By the time they reached the store, the sun had warmed the pavement enough to give the air a faint shimmer.

  “Split up?” she asked, pulling out the list.

  Kael nodded. “I’ll take frozen. You do dry.”

  She gave him a small salute and vanished down an aisle.

  Kael drifted through the cold section, the steady hum of the refrigeration units surrounding him like white noise. His eyes wandered lazily over bags of vegetables and synthetic meat trays.

  Then the hum changed.

  Not louder. Not quieter.

  Just... off. Like the pitch had slid sideways.

  He blinked. The air felt thicker.

  A voice slid into the silence behind him—smooth, low, too close.

  “Kael.”

  Kael turned.

  A man stood at the end of the aisle. Young. Maybe early twenties. Long coat, hands in his pockets, pale eyes that didn’t blink.

  He was familiar.

  But wrong.

  Like remembering someone from a dream and realizing their face never had a mouth.

  “You remember me,” the man said. “Not clearly, but enough.”

  Kael stared. “Who are you?”

  The man smiled. It was soft. Gentle. Completely unearned.

  “They tried to take me out of you,” he said. “But some things stain too deep.”

  Kael’s heart thudded. He didn’t move.

  The man stepped forward, each footfall soundless.

  “You used to wrinkle your nose when you lied,” he added. “Still do.”

  Kael’s breath caught.

  The lighting in the aisle flickered—not fast, just once, like a blink too long. A hum built behind Kael’s ears. Not noise. Pressure.

  He didn’t feel afraid.

  He felt calm.

  Too calm.

  Like his thoughts had been pressed flat and lined up for inspection.

  “You’re waking up too fast,” the man whispered. “That’s not how it was meant to go. But you’ll understand soon. When the doors open.”

  Kael swallowed. “What doors?”

  But the man didn’t answer. He just tilted his head and began to hum.

  It was a tune Kael hadn’t heard in years.

  A lullaby.

  A fragment of a song his mother used to hum when she thought no one was listening. Always in the kitchen. Always near dusk. He hadn’t thought of it in so long—but now it was perfect, every note exact. As if lifted from memory and placed directly into the air.

  Kael’s knees almost buckled.

  “Why do you know that?” he asked, his voice raw.

  The man smiled again.

  But this time, his eyes didn’t match it.

  Then he turned his head—not his body, just his head—and stared behind Kael.

  “Kael?”

  Annabelle’s voice.

  Kael turned.

  When he looked back—

  The man was gone.

  No footsteps. No rustle of coat. No breath.

  Just the low hum of the freezers returning to their natural rhythm.

  Kael’s ears popped like something deep inside him had shifted.

  Annabelle rounded the corner. “You okay?”

  He didn’t answer right away. His gaze dropped.

  He was holding something.

  A small receipt slip. Thin and faintly warm.

  On it, in neat, careful handwriting:

  “We’re still talking.”