A sharp snap.

  His form rips apart.

  Blood. Everywhere.

  Pain.. searing, unbearable... Tears through me.

  I choke, the sensation overwhelming.

  And suddenly...

  I wake up.

  Chapter 9 - The Weight of Truth

  I wake up screaming, my body jerks upright, hands clutching my chest. My throat burns, stiff and dry, as if I'd swallowed the desert whole. My breath comes fast, uneven. It takes a moment for reality to settle in.

  I'm still here. Still trapped in this place.

  So that was a dream… But it felt so real.

  I was something else... something dark, tendrils reaching, endless. And I was chasing… myself? No.... it was chasing me. Or was I the one chasing? I retrace the memory, sifting through the haze. Before I came here, I had a dream like that. But then, I was fleeing from the creature. Yet this time, I was the creature. Chasing myself, not to devour, but to save.

  It makes no sense.

  In most places, truth sharpens with time, like a blade honed against stone. But here, the more I try to grasp it, the more it slips through my fingers. Like a river, thick with mud. I reach in, desperate to clear the water, but the silt only rises, turning it to sand.

  I sit still, staring into nothing. The world around me holds its breath.

  And then..

  Grace.

  The name rips from my throat before I even know I'm moving. I throw myself off the bed, stumbling out the door.

  The sky is still dim, the sun barely breaking the horizon. But the crack... it's redder now, more vivid, like an open wound in the heavens. The cold air stings my skin. My mind races, drowning in thoughts I don’t want to have.

  I hope she's safe... I hope she's alive.

  Every thought claws at me, relentless. I don’t think. I just run.

  Her house looms ahead. My heart slams against my ribs as I reach the door, shoving it open. The room is steeped in shadow. Too quiet. Too empty.

  "Grace!" My voice cuts through the silence, but no answer comes.

  Fists clenched, pulse hammering, I scan the room. And then...

  A creak.

  A soft shift of air.

  Through the cracked door, a thin mist rolls in from outside. The wooden floor groans under a delicate step.

  And then she appears.

  A white towel drapes around her, clinging where water kisses skin. Her hair spills over her shoulders, dark and undone, veiling her face. Strands stick to the curve of her cheek, still damp.

  She steps forward, the air around her humming with warmth. My breath catches.

  It’s unfair how she seems to grow more beautiful with each passing moment.

  She grips her towel tightly, caught off guard.

  It snaps me back to reality. "Oh... I'm sorry, I was just—uh.. checking... You know..." I fumble over my words, then give up. "Umm... I'll see you later then."

  I turn to leave.

  "Wait."

  Her voice stops me cold.

  I glance back. She just stands there, gripping the towel. Seconds stretch. Her fingers tremble... barely, but enough to notice. Then, slowly, her grip loosens.

  Her head lowers. "It's nothing," she mutters.

  Before I can say a word, she turns and disappears back into the bathroom. The door shuts.

  A quiet click.

  I stare at it for a moment, my mind buzzing with things left unsaid.

  Maybe I should check on her maybe I should....

  No she is alive that's all that matters for now. And I need to keep her that way.. I have work to do.

  Then, with a breath, I step back and head outside.

  I step forward, eyes lifting to the sky. The light creeps in, growing brighter with each passing moment. What time is it? I haven’t seen a clock anywhere. How do people keep track of time here?

  Not going to ask Grace, obviously. Not right now. Maybe the cook? My eyes drift toward the longhouse beside me. Yeah, the cook.

  I walk toward it. The door is already open, but the space inside is empty.

  Quiet.

  I know where the kitchen is, though. Thanks to Grace. I move toward it, but the door is locked. A soft hum comes from the other side.

  Knock. Knock.

  A few seconds pass..

  Maybe he didn’t hear me.

  I raise my hand to knock again—

  The door swings open.

  An elderly man stands before me, somewhere in his sixties. White hair, long beard. Despite his age, his frame is strong, muscular. And suddenly...

  "Oh, it's you," the cook says, wiping his hands on his apron. "Do you need something? We're not open for another hour. If you're hungry, you'll have to wait."

  I shake my head. "No, it’s not that. We met yesterday, but I never introduced myself properly."

  He leans against the doorframe, scanning me from head to toe. His gaze is sharp, evaluating.

  "Alright then," he says at last, stepping aside. "Come in."

  I follow him in. The air is thick with the scent of simmering broth. He moves toward a massive clay stove, the fire beneath it roaring softly. He stirs something, his focus locked onto his work.

  "My name is Black," I say, stepping closer.

  "I know," he says without looking up. "Grace told me about you yesterday. Hope you liked her ramen. She went through a lot to make it."

  "I did. It was..wonderful."

  A small, approving nod is all I get. His attention remains on the pot.

  "What’s your name?" I ask.

  This time, he looks at me. "Thomas. Thomas Payne."

  Thomas Payne? It sounds oddly formal. Almost... out of place.

  "I'm the cook here," he continues. "The one and only. Everybody has a part to play. This is mine."

  Everybody has a part to play...

  What’s mine? I wonder, am I just an outsider, wandering aimlessly...

  I take a deep breath.

  No. I have a purpose. I have to find the truth. I have to save everyone.

  "Mr. Payne," I say, "do you have any clocks or watches here?"

  He pauses, then walks over to a shelf, reaching deep inside. After a moment, he pulls something out—something small and silver that catches the light. He tosses it to me.

  I catch it.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  A pocket watch.

  I flip it open. The hands are still.

  "It doesn’t work anymore," Payne says. "It did when I first came here. Battery ran out, I guess. Not that it ever showed the right time. It wasn’t made for this world."

  That confirms it.

  This place is different.

  But how...

  I look at Payne, hoping for answers, but I know he won’t have them.

  With a sigh, I hold the watch back out to him.

  "Keep it," he says. "No use to me now. Maybe you’ll find a battery somewhere. Might be more useful to you than me."

  Something about this man… it’s as if his past has been erased, or maybe he abandoned it himself. The watch in his hand—it must have meant something once. But now, it’s just dead weight, dragging him toward a past that no longer matters.

  All he is now is a cook. Like Legend, he clings to purpose where he can find it.

  This place is a mess. People, drained of hope, drained of who they once were, reshaped into hollow shells, made to fit this place.

  For some reason, all of this feels like a human experiment.

  I grip the watch tightly. I have to save them. I can’t let anyone else die. I can’t let them suffer like this anymore.

  I need to find out where we are, and what we’re up against...

  "Thank you, sir. I'll make good use of it."

  I meet his gaze, holding it for a moment longer.

  He nods once and turns back to his cooking.

  I linger for a moment, then quietly step away, the broken watch cool in my palm. I halt.

  There’s no time for hunting batteries. That’s not what matters right now. I can’t waste my time or energy on distractions. What I need is information, where I am and how this place works.

  That thought lingers, incomplete, like a puzzle missing its final piece.

  I turn to the cook standing by the roaring fire, his ladle moving in slow, practiced circles. Mr. Payne.

  "I need a favor."

  He doesn’t respond.

  "Can I have a piece of firewood? Just a small one, straight and about three feet long."

  Mr. Payne looks at me with an unreadable expression.

  "Please. I know resources are scarce, but this is important."

  Without a word, he turns and walks away. For a moment, I wonder if he’s ignoring me, but then I realize he’s heading toward one of his shelves. He pauses, then turns slightly and asks, "Will you be returning it?"

  "Yes," I say, nodding. "Soon."

  He retrieves something from the shelf, a wooden ladle, unfinished, still rough in places. He grips the handle and twists, separating the straight wooden shaft from the bowl. It’s exactly what I need: a one-meter-long stick, perfectly straight.

  He hands it to me without a word, his face as blank as before. Not even a hint of curiosity. Good. I can’t afford questions right now.

  "Thank you, Mr. Payne. I’ll return it soon."

  He gives a slight nod, and with that, I step out of the kitchen.

  Today is important. Today, I’m going to uncover something no one else here could.

  I need to know where the hell we are.

  Stepping outside the longhouse, I scan the area.

  I need open ground. Somewhere flat. A place where the sun will cast a clear shadow.

  I pick a direction and walk, searching. Then I find it, a small clearing, just enough space for what I need.

  I drive the stick into the ground, pressing it firm.

  The sun, still hiding behind the towering trees, begins to rise, its light spilling through the branches. Good. That should work. The shadow stretches long and straight across the earth.

  At first glance, the sun looks normal. Its size, its brightness, its warmth. The shadow behaves as expected.

  But that doesn’t tell me anything yet. I need more. I need to wait until noon.

  I mark the tip of the shadow.

  Staying here until midday isn’t an option. I don’t have that kind of time.

  Ideally, I would track the shadow’s movement throughout the day, marking its length and shift.

  But for now, I settle for something simpler. The closer the shadow is to the stick at noon, the closer we are to the equator. Not only will I know where we are but also how long the day cycle here is.

  This is only the first step.

  By my estimate, the sun rose about an hour ago.

  I will need to return later to check how much closer the shadow has moved to the base. That will give me the exact noon point. From there, I can track the descent toward nightfall.

  If this watch worked, I could measure this precisely, but for now, I will have to rely on mental calculations.

  I check the stick’s stability.

  It should hold.

  Dr. Lenny said he would help me today, compiling records of when everyone arrived.

  I need that data.

  Asking people directly is out of the question. Too personal. Too risky. The wrong questions could stir emotions, draw attention. Better to approach it subtly.

  I will meet him after breakfast.

  But first, I need a bath.

  With that, I turn toward my house.

  As I reach my house, I notice the door slightly open.

  Strange. I remember closing it before I left. Then again, it doesn’t have a lock.

  Cautiously, I step inside. The air feels different, like someone else's presence lingers in the room. And then, I see her.

  Grace.

  She’s sitting on my bed, her legs tucked beneath her, as if she belongs here. As if this isn’t strange at all.

  "You’re back!" she says, rising onto her toes, her face lighting up with a warmth so genuine it almost makes me forget we’re in a bad place at all.

  The image of her wrapped in a towel flashes in my mind, and I feel heat crawl up my neck. Oh no. Maybe she’s here to scold me.

  "I'm sorry," I blurt out, the words tumbling out too fast. "I didn’t see anything. I mean, obviously, I didn’t, but..."

  She laughs. A soft, bell-like sound. "It’s okay," she says, her voice gentle. "I came to check on you too." She smiles.

  Then she gestures to the side. I follow her eyes and see neatly folded clothes stacked beside the bed.

  "I also brought you some clothes," she adds.

  I hesitate. “Oh… Thank you.”

  She claps her hands together. "Alright then! You should freshen up, and after breakfast, we’ll visit everyone. You don’t know anybody here, and that’s not good. There are lots of nice people, you know."

  I should go along with it. I should nod and smile. But I can’t. Not now.

  I glance at the folded clothes, the careful way she arranged them. It’s such a small thing, but it fills me with guilt.

  She’s already decided, as if this is inevitable. As if we have time.

  But we don’t.

  My chest tightens. A bitter thought claws its way into my mind. Should I let go of everything? Spend whatever time she has left making her happy? Or should I fight.. fight to save her, even if I fail?

  That thought alone freezes my blood. If I fail.

  It changes everything. The world around me feels colder. My heartbeat pounds in my ears, a steady reminder of my own helplessness. For the first time, I feel like I’m standing at the edge of something I can’t climb. Like no matter what I choose, I will lose.

  I look at Grace.

  She’s waiting for my answer, oblivious to the war raging inside me.

  I step forward, closing the space between us. Slowly, deliberately, I take her hand.

  She startles at the sudden touch, her eyes searching mine.

  "Grace," I say, my voice quieter now, but firm. "There are things I need to do. As much as I want to be with you right now.. going wherever you take me.. I can’t."

  Her fingers twitch in my grasp, but she says nothing.

  I want to tell her. I want to say, I’m going to save you. But how can I? I can’t give her hope that might shatter in the end.

  Usually, I believe false hope isn’t so bad. A dying patient clinging to a lie still dies peacefully, none the wiser. But here… Here, I don’t even know if I’m lying.

  And if I fail, that betrayal will be one more thing she has to suffer.

  Grace’s gaze stays locked onto mine, as if searching for something, some truth hidden in my words. Then, she lowers her eyes to the floor.

  I let go of her hand.

  I grab the clothes. "I’ll see you for breakfast, okay?"

  And before she can say anything, I turn and disappear into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

  I slump against the bathroom door, exhaling sharply. I know I was rude, but I don’t have a choice anymore. I can’t let circumstances drag me around like yesterday. I have to be the one in control.

  Standing under the shower, I turn it on, letting the water wash over me.

  My second day… Once I get a clearer understanding of where we are and how time flows here, I can determine whether this is just an isolated island, artificially altered, or something entirely different.

  If this place is part of an experiment, controlled by humans, there should be evidence...

  Cameras for surveillance, infrared sensors for night monitoring, and radio waves for communication and environmental control... especially in the forest.

  If I can detect radio signals, that would strongly indicate human involvement. And if someone is behind this, all we have to do is outsmart them.

  But how do I detect signals? There’s no phone reception here, no obvious technology.

  Water flows over me as I rack my brain. There won’t be any working radios here to detect signals. Even if there are, there’s no power in this place.

  But I still have to look.

  If I find nothing, I’ll have to make one myself.

  A crude radio receiver. That is my best bet.

  If I can build one, I might detect electromagnetic signals. But I will need a long wire for an antenna, copper wire to create an inductor, a diode to demodulate signals, and a speaker or headphones to detect sound.

  A crystal radio. Simple. No batteries required.

  But finding the right materials will be a challenge.

  The antenna is the easiest. A long metal wire would be ideal. If none exist, I might try vines. Some plants contain conductive minerals, though they would be weak. Rubbing charcoal on it will improve its conductivity.

  Copper wire is trickier. I need electronics. Phones, radios, speakers, headphones. Anything with internal wiring. Someone here must have headphones. If I can salvage the wire, I can wrap it around a stick to create an inductor.

  If I connect the coil to the antenna and link it to a speaker, I might pick up something. A pulse. A hum. A whisper of artificial interference.

  That would change everything.

  If this place is designed, it can be dismantled.

  With that, I turn off the shower, letting the last drops trail down my skin before reaching for a towel. I dry myself slowly, the fabric rough against my damp skin. The new clothes feel unfamiliar, plain, unmarked by scent, as if they, too, belong to this world that resists attachment. I slip into them and step out.

  To my surprise, Grace is still there, kneeling on the floor, gently wiping the dust away. The way she moves, delicate yet precise, makes the act seem almost reverent. She glances up at me, eyes flickering over the ill-fitting clothes before a quiet chuckle escapes her lips.

  "You didn’t have to do that, you know. I can clean the house myself," I say.

  She shrugs, her voice soft. "I had nothing else to do."

  I nod. "Alright then, let's go."

  She springs up with that effortless grace of hers and, before I can react, her hand finds mine. Without hesitation, she pulls me forward, leading me through the halls, just as she always does.

  And just like that, I’m in the longhouse, standing in line for breakfast.

  We get our food, soup and bread, simple and warm. Sitting beside her at the worn wooden table, I can’t help but recall yesterday. The moment I saw White for the first time, seated across from me. The weight of his gaze. I scan the room, but he’s nowhere to be found.

  "How old are you?" Grace’s voice cuts through my thoughts.

  I turn to her, watching as she nibbles on her bread. Something about the way she eats... small, careful bites.. makes the question seem more innocent than it is.

  "Seventeen," I answer.

  She blinks, surprised. "Ohhh."

  "And you?" I ask.

  "Nineteen," she says, smiling slightly. "Guess that makes me the older one here. That means it’s my responsibility to take good care of you."

  She looks at me then.. really looks at me. Her eyes hold something I can’t name, something steady and warm.

  "As long as I’m here," she murmurs, "I’ll take care of you."

  The words hit like lightning.

  The words settle over me, quiet and certain. No hesitation, no conditions. Just a simple promise.

  For a moment, I let myself believe it.

  But then the thought creeps in.

  Why?

  Why would she say that? No one does this. No one means things like this. You’ve only known me for a day.

  A hollow ache spreads through my chest, cold and sharp. What if this is just another trick? Another cruel game?

  The thought coils around me, suffocating. This place is never what it seems. I was never meant to have this.. this kindness, warmth, something to hold on to.

  I force a breath, but it does nothing to loosen the grip around my ribs.

  She is still watching me.

  Is she waiting for something? A reaction? An answer?

  I don’t have one.

  I should push her away. Keep my distance. That is the smart thing to do.

  But I don’t.

  Because I am tired. Tired of chasing ghosts, of questioning every moment until it slips through my fingers.

  Even if this is all a lie... even if it's fleeting, even if it’s just another illusion, I don’t care.

  For once, I just want to believe.