CHAPTER FIVE
Three days before my birthday, Noa decided I was not allowed to spend my day off rotting in my apartment. Her words, not mine. “I’m serious,” she said through the phone while I stood in my kitchen staring into the refrigerator like something edible might magically appear if I gave it enough time. “You have been weird for like a week.”
“I’m always weird.”
“No. You’re usually fun weird. Lately you’ve been all haunted and Victorian child weird.” I shut the fridge. “That feels melodramatic.”
“You stared at the copier for ten minutes yesterday.”
“I was thinking.”
“You were whispering.” That made me stop. I leaned back against the counter and looked toward the living room. Maven was stretched across the rug on her side, dead asleep, one leg twitching every few seconds. “I was not whispering.”
“You absolutely were.”
“What was I saying?!”
“No clue, sounded like a curse.”
“Cute.”
“Exactly. So go get dressed.”
I sighed. “Why?”
“Because your birthday is in three days, I refuse to let you enter another year of your life looking like a sleep-deprived crypt keeper, and I want coffee.”
“You could have just said coffee.”
“I knew that would work.”
Twenty minutes later, I was dressed and halfway regretting answering the phone. Noa picked me up, blasting music loud enough to vibrate the windows, wearing sunglasses too big for her face and acting as if she had personally rescued me from a depressive spiral instead of dragging me out for caffeine and errands. “You look better already,” she said when I got in.
“I hate you.”
“Love you too.”
We spent the first hour doing absolutely nothing important, which was probably exactly what I needed. Coffee turned into wandering through a row of little shops downtown, most of them overpriced and aggressively curated. Noa stopped in every place that sold candles, jewelry, or anything labeled handmade. I mostly followed behind her.
For the first time in days, I wasn’t thinking about the box. Or the scar. Or the dreams. At least not constantly. That felt like progress. Then we passed the bookstore. It wasn’t really the bookstore, not exactly. The front window was crowded with old books, tarnished brass objects, framed botanical prints, crystals, maps, strange little statues, and things that looked old enough to come with curses and paperwork.
Noa stopped walking. “No.”
I looked at her. “What?”
“I know that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re about to make me go inside somewhere dusty.”
“You like dusty places.”
“I like cute dusty places. That place looks like somebody disappeared in it.” I was already opening the door. A little bell rang overhead. The shop smelled like paper, incense, and something sweet I couldn’t place. Not perfume or flowers, but something warmer. Familiar.
I stopped just inside. Noa nearly walked into me. “Girl.”
“Sorry.” The feeling passed instantly. Almost. I moved farther in. Bookshelves crowded the walls from floor to ceiling, with narrow aisles cutting between them. Glass-carved objects with handwritten tags beside them.
I moved slowly between the shelves, trying not to look as interested as I suddenly was. The place was strange, but not in the way I’d expected from the outside. There were no plastic crystal balls or shelves full of mass-produced tarot decks. Nothing screamed witch store or tourist trap. Most of what I saw looked genuinely old. Books with cracked leather spines sat beside pieces of metal darkened with age. Small glass cases held coins, rings, carved stones, and objects I couldn’t immediately identify. Some of the tags listed dates. Others simply said UNKNOWN ORIGIN.
Noa picked up a tiny brass bell from one of the shelves. “Do not ring that.”
Her hand froze. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You absolutely were.” She stared at it for another second before carefully putting it back. “Okay, but in my defense, why put a bell out if you don’t want people to ring it?”
“Because people like you are apparently how horror movies start.”
She grinned. “And yet you’re the one who dragged me into that creepy shop.” I opened my mouth to remind her that she had technically followed me in, but something caught my attention farther down the aisle. The smile fell from my face; there it was again. Not the symbol from the window. Something different.
A book sat partially hidden beneath two others on the lowest shelf. There was nothing particularly remarkable about it at first glance. Dark brown leather. No title along the spine. No decoration except a thin pattern pressed around the edges of the cover. It looked older than everything around it, the leather worn smooth in places from hands that had touched it long before mine. But the writing stamped across the center made my stomach tighten. I crouched.
Noa noticed immediately. “What?” I didn’t answer.
The letters weren’t letters. At least, not any alphabet I had ever seen. Long strokes curved into sharp angles, some crossing through one another while others ended in small hooked marks. They should have meant nothing to me. They didn’t.
I stared at the first word. Avarin. The sound formed in my head so clearly that for a split second I thought someone had whispered it beside me. I jerked backward. Noa crouched beside me. “What happened?”
I pointed at the book. “That.”
She looked at the book. “The book?”
“The writing.” Her eyes moved over the cover. “What about it?”
I looked again. The word was still there. Avarin. Not a guess. Not me trying to make familiar shapes out of something foreign. I knew how it sounded. I knew where the emphasis belonged. I knew the soft roll of the second syllable even though there was absolutely no reason I should. “What does that say?” I asked.
Noa frowned. “How the hell would I know?”
“Just look at it.”
“I am looking at it.”
“Does any of it look familiar?”
She leaned closer. “No, it looks like somebody got drunk and tried to invent cursive.” My pulse began to pound harder. I reached for the book. Noa caught my wrist. “Maybe,” she said slowly, “we don’t touch the ancient mystery book that apparently just spoke to you.”
“It didn’t speak to me.”
“You jumped like it did.”
“I knew the word.” That shut her up. Her fingers loosened around my wrist. “What do you mean, you knew it?”
“I mean I looked at it and knew what it said.” Noa glanced between me and the book. “Have you seen that language before?”
“No.”
“Online? In one of your searches?”
“No.”
“Maybe it looks like something-“
“Noa.”
She stopped. “I know what it says.” Saying it out loud made something settle inside me. For days, every strange thing had happened to me. The dreams. The scar. The voice. The sky. The flashes at work. I had spent so much time trying to decide whether I was losing my mind that I hadn’t stopped to consider the other possibility. Maybe there was nothing wrong with my mind. Perhaps it was remembering.
I pulled my wrist from Noa’s hand and lifted the book from the shelf. Nothing happened. No lightning. No green fire. No sudden collapse of reality. “See?” I muttered. Noa stared at me. “Give it a minute.” I ignored her and opened the cover. The first page was blank. So was the second. On the third, the writing began. My breath hitched. Lines of the same strange script covered the yellowed paper from edge to edge. Some of the characters were larger, drawn with elaborate strokes that curled into the margins. Others were packed together so tightly they almost looked like one continuous mark.
I should not have been able to read any of it, but my eyes moved across the first line. And I understood. Not every word. Some slipped away the second I reached for them, like trying to remember a dream after waking. But not enough remained.
When the sky breaks, the blood will remember. My fingers went cold. Noa was watching me now instead of the book. “Lara?”
I swallowed, then read the line again. The translation came just as easily. “When the sky breaks,” I whispered, “the blood will remember.” Silence. Noa leaned over my shoulder and stared at the page. “You can read that?”
“I think so.”
“You think so?” Noa questioned.
“I don’t know.” My voice rose despite myself. “I’ve never seen this shit in my life, Noa. I don’t exactly have a Rosetta Stone in my pocket.”
“Okay. Okay.” She lowered her voice. “What else does it say?” That question stopped me.
A week ago, she would’ve told me to put the book down. Hell, a week ago I would have put the book down. Instead, I turned the page. The words came slower this time. Fragments. Two worlds. Something about a gate. A word I couldn’t translate but somehow knew had more than one meaning. Then. Helara.
My entire body went still. I stared at it. The letters blurred. Not because they changed, but because suddenly I wasn’t seeing the page anymore. Stone. Cold beneath my bare feet.
Someone was shouting. Not Lara. Not quite. “Helara!” The voice ripped through me. I dropped the book; it hit the floor with a crack that echoed through the shop. Noa grabbed my shoulders. “Lara!” I sucked in a breath. The shop returned all at once. Shelves. Dust. Glass. Noa’s hands gripping me hard enough to hurt. I looked down at the book. The page had changed; a single symbol filled it now.
The same symbol carved into the box sitting untouched in my bedroom. Noa saw it too. Her grip tightened. “Oh, fuck.” For once, I had nothing sarcastic to say. I crouched slowly and reached toward the page. My scar burned. Not the dull ache I’d learned to ignore. Burned. I sucked air through my teeth, my hand flying to my shoulder.
Noa stepped closer. “Is it the scar?” I nodded. The heat spread beneath my skin, branching across my back in the familiar lightning pattern of my scar. But this time I didn’t recoil from it. I stared at the symbol. Then at the strange writing surrounded by it. Then at my own hand. Something had changed inside of me. Not because I suddenly understood what was happening; I didn’t. I still had a thousand questions and exactly zero answers. But I was done pretending none of it was real.
I picked up the book. Noa stared at me. “What are you doing?”
“Finding out what the hell Avarin means.” Her face went blank. “What?”
I looked at her. “Avarin.” Noa’s eyes moved slowly toward the book. “I never asked what the word was.” I froze. Before I could answer, a voice came from somewhere behind us.
“You pronounce it differently.” Every muscle in my body locked. Noa turned first. I didn’t. Because beneath the fear, beneath the confusion, beneath every rational thought screaming at me to get the hell out of that shop, something else had risen inside me.
Recognition. I knew that voice.
I turned slowly. A man stood at the end of the aisle, one hand resting loosely in the pocket of dark trousers. He looked completely out of place and somehow like he belonged there more than anything else in the shop. Tall, broad through the shoulders, dark hair brushed back from his face with silver starting to show near his temples. His clothes were simple-a charcoal shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms, black slacks, a watch-but there was something deliberate about him. Even the way he stood seemed practiced, like stillness was something he had learned rather than something that came naturally. But it was his face that held me.
I had never seen him before. I was sure of that. Still, something inside of me disagreed. His eyes moved over my face slowly and for the briefest moment, whatever composure he’d been wearing disappeared. His lips parted. His shoulders dropped by barely an inch. The fingers inside his pocket shifted. He looked relieved. Then he blinked, and the expression vanished so completely that I wondered if I’d imagined it.
Noa stepped closer to me. “Do you work here?” The man’s attention moved to her. His gaze lingered. Not enough to be rude, but enough that Noa noticed. Her eyebrows rose, and she shifted her weight onto one hip. “Hi,” she said, drawing the word out. “Still here.”
Something tightened around his eyes before looking back at me. “Yes.”
I frowned. “Yes, you work here, or yes, you know what that says?” His mouth curved slightly. “Both.” Finally. I lifted the book. “Avarin.” The word felt even stranger now that I knew someone else understood it. His expression didn’t change, but his eyes sharpened.
“What do you think it means?” I stared at him. “Why does everyone suddenly think I’m taking a fucking test?” Noa snorted beside me.
The man’s mouth twitched again. That tiny movement bothered me more than it should have. I knew that too, not the expression itself. The feeling that came with it. Irritation tangled with familiarity, like I’d watched that exact almost-smile hundreds of times and hated it every it, every single one. I studied him harder. His amusement faded. “You really don’t remember me?” There it was. Not have we met? Not do I know you? Remember. I lowered the book slightly. “Should I?”
For the first time, he didn’t answer immediately. His eyes searched mine as though he might find something behind them if he looked long enough. Whatever he was hoping to see wasn’t there.
“No.” He said eventually. The answer came too carefully. I gave a humorless laugh. “You’re a terrible liar.” Noa nodded. “Really bad.” His attention flickered toward her again. Noa smiled sweetly. I stepped closer. “Who are you?”
“Elias.”
“Elias what?” A pause.
“Just Elias is fine.”
“Of course it is.” I looked toward the front of the shop, half expecting someone else to appear and start speaking in riddles. Nothing moved beyond the windows except pedestrians passing on the sidewalk.
When I turned back, Elias was looking at the book. Not casually; his entire face had changed. The softness was gone from his mouth. A faint line had appeared between his brows, and his eyes tracked the edge of the cover before settling on the page I left open.
“You shouldn’t be able to read that.” My grip tightened.
“Well, apparently I can.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.” A muscle shifted along his jaw.
“How do you know my name?” Noa straightened beside me. Elias said nothing. I took another step toward him. “I didn’t tell you my name.” His gaze remained on mine. “No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t.” The scar beneath my shirt warmed. Not enough to hurt, just to notice. I resisted the instinct to touch it.
“You’ve been waiting for me.” His eyes changed. There was no obvious reaction this time, but I'd spent years listening to terrified people on the worst days of their lives. People lied with their mouths all the time. Their breathing was usually honest. His had stopped. Only for a second but it had stopped. “Why would you think that?”
I almost smiled. “Because you’re asking the wrong questions.”
His eyebrows lifted. “You’re not surprised I can read this. You’re surprised I can read it already.” Silence stretched between us. Noa looked from him to me. “Okay,” she murmured. “That was actually a really good catch.” I ignored her. Elias didn’t.
For the first time since he appeared, he looked genuinely unsettled. Good. I was tired of being the only person in the room who didn’t know what the hell was happening. I held the book out slightly. “What is avarin?” His gaze dropped to the writing. For several seconds, he said nothing. Then he stepped closer. “It’s difficult to translate.”
“Try.”
His eyes returned to mine. “Awakening is probably the closest word you have.” A chill traveled over my arms.
“Awakening.”
“Yes.”
“What am I waking up from?” Something passed across his face. Pain. It was gone almost instantly, buried beneath that infuriating calm. “That isn’t what it means.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“Aravin isn’t about waking from sleep.” He glanced toward the book.
“It’s about returning something that was never truly gone.” The words settled heavily in my chest. My eyes dropped to the page. The strange characters no longer looked strange. That realization bothered me.
The longer I stared at them, the less foreign they became. My eyes recognized patterns now. Repeated shapes. Endings. The subtle difference between two characters I’d thought were identical minutes ago. I turned the page. Elias moved. “Don’t.”
I stopped. His hand hadn’t touched me, but it hovered between us. I looked at it, then at him. “Why?”
His fingers slowly curled this his palm. “Somethings are better remembered in the order they’re meant to be.” I stared at him. There was something so specific about that sentence that my irritation disappeared. Not fear. Interest. “What order?”
Elias’s eyes held mine. “The one you’re already following.” Noa exhaled sharply through her nose. “I swear to god, if one more person says something cryptic-“ I turned the page. “Lara.” I ignored him.
More writing filled the paper, but this page was different. A drawing occupied most of the center, surrounded by lines of text. At first I couldn’t understand what I was looking at. Two circles. One above the other. A jagged line ran between them, splitting both through the center. Symbols surrounded the edges, some familiar now, others still meaningless. Then I saw the mark at the bottom. The symbol from my Grandmother’s box. My thumb brushed across it; the scar on my back flared. I sucked in a breath. Elias stepped forward. “Don’t touch-“ too late.
The shop disappeared. For one impossible second, I stood somewhere else. Wind tore through my hair. The sky burned pink and orange above me, enormous purple clouds rolling across a moon too large to belong to Earth. Someone stood beside me. A man. I couldn’t see his face, but I heard his voice. The same voice, standing only feet away from me now. “You know what happens if you cross.” My own voice answered him. Not Lara’s voice, mine, but different. Stronger somehow. Older. “Then make sure I come back.”
The vision had shattered. I stumbled against the shelf. Noa caught my elbow. “Lara!” I blinked hard until the shop stopped moving. Elias hadn’t touched me. He hadn’t moved at all. His face had gone completely pale. I straightened slowly. My hand remained wrapped around Noa’s arms, but my eyes stayed on him. Neither of us spoke. We didn’t need to. Because whatever I had just seen-he knew exactly what it was.
I released Noa. Then I looked Elias directly in his eyes. “You were there.”
Elias didn’t answer. Noa’s hand tightened around my arm. “Okay, I’m going to need somebody to start using complete sentences because I’m officially lost.” I barely heard her. Elias and I stared at each other across the narrow aisle, the open book still resting between us. A few seconds ago, I’d been standing beneath a sky that shouldn’t exist, speaking with a voice that belonged to me and somehow didn’t. And he had been there. Not someone who looked like him. Not another shadowy face my brain could blur into something familiar. Him.
The color had drained from his face so completely that whatever excuse he was searching for had already arrived too late. “You were there,” I repeated, slower this time.
His jaw shifted. “Lara-“
“No.” I pulled my arm free from Noa and stepped toward him. “You don’t get to do that.”
His eyebrows drew together. “Do what?”
“Say my name like you know me.” Something flickered across his face. Small and fast but I caught it. I pointed at him. “That, right there.”
Noa looked from me to Elias. “What.”
“He keeps doing that.”
“Doing what?”
“Looking at me like…” I stopped because I didn’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding completly insane. Like he’d been waiting for me. The thought arrived so clearly that a chill crawled across my skin. Elias glanced toward the front of the shop. The older woman behind the counter was nowhere in sight now. I hadn’t even noticed her leave. The place felt different without her, quieter somehow, though the faint hum of the lights and the distant rush of foot traffic outside hadn’t changed.
His attention returned to me. “What exactly did you see?”
A humorless laugh escaped me. “Oh, now you want information?”
“I’m trying to understand what happened.”
“Bullshit.”
“Tactful,” Noa muttered.
I ignored her and kept my eyes on Elias. “You told me not to touch the page before I touched it.”
Elias’s eyes flickered toward the book. “I saw you reaching for it.”
“No, you didn’t.” His gaze came back to mine. “My hand wasn’t even moving yet.” For half a second, something shifted in his expression. Then it was gone.
“I saw the symbol.” He said.
I frowned slightly. “And?”
“I recognized it.”
“From where?”
He hesitated. There it was.
“Exactly.” I held his stare for another second, waiting to see if he’d give me anything else; he didn’t. I turned back to the book. The page looked harmless now. Two circles, the jagged line, writing I couldn’t read. The symbol from my Grandmother’s box sitting innocently at the bottom, as if touching it hadn’t just ripped the entire fucking world out from under me.
Except, something about the writing caught me. I stared at the markings surrounding the drawing. A second ago, they had been nothing more than unfamiliar strokes crowded across yellowed paper. Now, there was a strange familiarity to them. Not enough that I could read them, exactly, but enough that looking away suddenly felt impossible.
I bent over the book. “Lara?” Noa said. I barely heard her.
A line near the bottom held me there. The ink didn’t move, the shapes didn’t change. Nothing on the page was different. I was.
Understanding slipped into place without permission. The marks separated themselves in my mind, each one carrying a sound I had no memory of learning. Those sounds connected, forming words that felt foreign and familiar at the same time.
A cold heaviness settled low in my stomach. “No,” I breathed. Across the table, Elias went completely still. My eyes followed the line again. And before I could stop myself, the words left my mouth.
“Sa vera en tal.” The room seemed to empty of sound. Noa stared at me in a way I’ve never seen. Elias didn’t so much as blink.
“What did you just say?” Noa asked.
“I…” The answer was already there.
A few days ago, that realization might have sent me spiraling. Now, I was getting tired of being surprised by things my brain apparently knew without consulting me first. I looked back at the line. The words felt strange on my tongue, but the meaning didn’t. That part came easily. Too easily.
“It means…” I paused, less because I doubted myself and more because saying it aloud felt important. “She returns as promised.”
Noa stared at the page. “You can read that?”
“Apparently.”
“You literally just read it.”
“I’m aware.” But I wasn’t looking at Noa anymore. I was looking at Elias. He hadn’t moved, and suddenly, what I knew wasn’t nearly as interesting as the fact that he seemed to know it too.
“You understood me.” Elias’s eyes met mine, and the silence between us stretched just long enough to answer the question for him.
Noa turned toward him. “Did you?” He said nothing. Of course he didn’t. I straightened, keeping my attention fixed on him. “You understood every word I just said.”
“Lara.” There was something about the way he said my name that scraped against every nerve I had left. Too familiar. Too careful, like he was trying to calm something he already understood.
“Stop saying my fucking name like that.”
His lips pressed together, and for once, he listened. Good.
I’d spent days questioning myself: the dreams, the scar, the things that appeared inside my head with no explanation for how they got there. Every impossible moment had sent me scrambling for something rational enough to shove beneath it, some explanation that would make my life feel normal again. Normal was becoming a pretty fucking useless word.
Whatever this was, it was real. I might not understand it, but I sure as hell was done wasting time pretending that made it less real. And Elias knew something about it. I reached across the table and shut the book. The cover struck the pages with a sharp crack that seemed too loud for the little shop. Elias’s gaze dropped to it.
“Who are you?” A muscle shifted along his jaw. It was subtle, almost nothing, but his usual composure slipped just enough for me to see the question had landed somewhere uncomfortable.
“Elias.” A laugh escaped me, dry and completely without humor. “Yeah. You already told us that.”
“It’s the only answer I can give you.” My fingers stilled against the cover of the book. Not the only answer he had. The only answer he could give me. I studied him for a moment, watching the careful set of shoulders, the guarded expression that had returned to his face. “Interesting choice of words.” His jaw tightened again. There you are.
Beside me, Noa shifted her weight. She’d been unusually quiet, which told me she was just as unsettled as I was, even if she was doing a better job of hiding it. “Lara, maybe we should go.” For once leaving didn’t feel like running. “Yeah.”
I picked up the book and tucked it beneath my arm. I’d barely taken two steps when Elias moved. “Don’t read any more of it.” I stopped. Noa nearly walked into me. Slowly, I turned around. “What?” Elias stood rigid beside the table. He looked like someone who wanted to pull his own words back out of the air. Too late.
My gaze dropped to the book beneath my arm before returning to him. Why?” His silence sat still. I let out a quiet breath through my nose. “You really have to work on that.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows. “On what?”
“Knowing things you refuse to explain.” Something hardened in his expression. “Just don’t.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the one I’m giving you.” I tightened my arm around the book. The old version of me might have listened. Might have decided I’d had enough impossible shit for one day and happily accepted any excuse to put distance between myself and whatever this thing was.
Unfortunately for Elias, I was getting tired of other people deciding what I could handle. “What happens if I read it?” His fingers flexed once at his side. That was it. No explanation. No warning. Not even another half-assed attempt to lie. But I was starting to learn that Elias said plenty when he wasn’t speaking. “You know what this book does?”
“I know enough.”
“Enough for what?” His gaze locked onto mine. For a moment, I thought I had him. Something shifted behind that maddening, controlled expression; frustration first, then something closer to fear. Not fear of me. Fear of something. Before I could decide which, heat tore across my shoulder.
I sucked in a breath. The scar pulsed beneath my shirt, one sharp flare that disappeared almost as quickly as it came. My hand rose instinctively toward it. Elias’s gaze followed. Except he wasn’t looking at my hand; he was looking at my shoulder. Every thought in my head stopped at once. The scar was covered completely. My hand lowered slowly. Elias’s eyes returned to mine, and I could see it on his face. He knew.
Not about the scar, but that I had caught him. Neither of us moved. The shop seemed strangely quiet around us, the hum of lights suddenly loud enough to notice. “How did you know?”
His expression closed immediately. Noa glanced between us. “Know what?” I took a step toward Elias. “My scar.” His jaw tightened. “You looked right at it.”
“Lara,”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t take it back. Something hot moved through my chest, and for once, it had nothing to do with fear. I was tired of chasing half-answers. Tired of being the last person in the room to understand something happening inside my own damn body.
“You knew I was going to touch that page. You understood what I said. You know something about this book.” I tapped its edge against my side. “And now you know about a scar you can’t even fucking see.” Elias stood perfectly still. No denial. No correction. Nothing. I searched his face, waiting for the excuse. Another carefully constructed sentence. Something vague enough to make me wonder whether I’d misunderstood what I saw. He gave me nothing. And strangely I didn’t need anything else.
“You’re lying to me.” His eyes held mine. For the first time, he didn’t try to hide behind silence. “I know.” The words were quiet. Barely more than a breath, but I heard them.
My grip tightened around the book. I didn’t know what to do with an admission that simple. I’d expected resistance. Another argument. Anything except the truth. Then it occurred to me that I didn’t have to do anything with it. Not yet.
I backed toward the door. Noa was already there, one hand curled around the handle. Her eyes moved between Elias and I, her expression caught somewhere between a hundred unanswered questions and the very reasonable desire to get the hell out of there. I decided for both of us. “Come on.”
Noa pulled the door open, and the little bell overhead broke the tension with a cheerful jingle that almost felt insulting. Cold air swept into the shop, brushing against my face as I stepped outside. I made several paces before stopping. Something made me look back. Through the shop window, Elias stood exactly where we’d left him. The distance and glass distorted his features slightly, but I could still feel his attention fixed on me. He didn’t follow. He didn’t call after me. He just watched. There was nothing curious about it. Nothing confused. He looked like a man waiting to see what I would do next. Fine. Let him watch.
Three days ago, I would have gone home, locked every door, crawled into bed with Maven, and spent hours trying to convince myself there was some reasonable explanation for all of this. I was done looking for reasonable.
The dreams were real. The language was real. The scar burning beneath my skin was real. Whatever happened when I touched that page had been real too. I didn’t understand any of it. Fine, I would. The thought settled over me with surprising calm.
For days, I’d been waiting for this thing- whatever it was to come for me again. Waiting for another dream. Another vision. Another impossible moment to rip the ground out from underneath me. Maybe that was the problem; maybe I needed to stop waiting. Someone had answers. The book beneath my arm might have some of them, and apparently, I’d just met a man who had even more.
Elias had told me not to read it. That alone was enough to make me want to open the damn thing. I tucked the book tighter against my side and turned away from the shop. For the first time since all this started, I wasn’t wondering whether I was losing my mind.
I was wondering something much more useful.
Who the fuck was Elias?