It's been three days since Jonah disappeared.
Ms. Carla says he probably ran away. That kids like him—quiet ones, troubled ones—don't usually say goodbye.
I wanted to scream that she was wrong.
But instead, I said nothing.
Just like always.
I retraced every step. Went to the bleachers where we used to sit. The alley where he showed me the mark. Even the corner of the library where he once fell asleep reading ancient myths.
Nothing.
No spiral. No spark. No sign.
Only a growing coldness in my chest.
The dreams have gotten worse.
Now I hear the crying clearly. It's Jonah's voice.
He says my name.
Not like a whisper, but a plea.
"Liora… it's coming."
When I wake up, my hands are shaking. The notebook is open to a page I don't remember drawing.
A symbol. A door. A crack of light pushing through it.
And written beneath it, in my handwriting:
"You are the key."
That day, I snapped at a teacher.
I never do that.
But she touched my arm, and I felt something—something like a pulse, like the ground under me shifting. Like I wasn't in the room anymore.
Like I was in the dream.
She pulled back instantly, her face pale. "Liora… are you okay?"
I lied and said I was tired.
But I wasn't tired.
I was breaking.
I walked home alone. Took the long way through the park. Tried to breathe.
Then I heard it.
A hum.
Low. Metallic. Like a machine buried beneath the earth had started up again.
I turned in a slow circle.
And that's when I saw it.
A figure in white at the edge of the trees.
No face.
Just like the dream.
I ran.
Didn't stop until I got home and locked the door.
But the humming followed me—echoed in my ears long after I was in bed.
And I couldn't stop thinking about what Jonah said before he vanished.
"Do you ever feel like you're not who people think you are?"
Because now, I was starting to wonder—
What if I wasn't even who I thought I was?