The city never truly slept.
It only pretended to.
Streetlights flickered like tired eyes, traffic hummed in the distance, and somewhere far below the noise of human life, something older watched quietly. The world believed itself safe because it could explain what it saw. Buildings. Roads. People.
What it could not explain, it chose to ignore.
Zara stood alone on the rooftop of a glass tower that pierced the night sky. The wind was sharp, cold, cutting through fabric and skin alike—but it did not touch her. It curved around her body as if instinctively aware of what she was.
Her white hair fell straight down her back, unnaturally smooth, unnaturally perfect. No curl. No wave. Just a clean, merciless line of pale silver reaching her lower back, glowing faintly under the city lights. It looked wrong in the modern world. Too pure. Too deliberate.
She wore black—not fashionable black, not elegant black. This was black chosen for purpose. Leather, enchanted fabric woven into sharp lines that hugged her frame like armor disguised as clothing. She didn't blend in.
She didn't need to.
Zara never hid.
Her eyes were black.
Not dark. Not shadowed.
Black.
They swallowed light whole, reflecting nothing back. Anyone who met her gaze felt a strange pressure in their chest, like the moment before fainting—or dying. People often looked away first. Those who didn't… learned.
She was arrogance given a heartbeat.
An elven bloodline witch—ancient blood running through a modern body. Once, her ancestors had been guardians of balance, watchers of worlds, protectors of life and magic alike. But balance bored Zara. Protection felt limiting.
She wanted control .
And she had it.
Below her, the city pulsed with life. Millions of people moving through routines they believed mattered. Zara watched them with mild curiosity, like ants scurrying through glass tunnels.
"So fragile," she murmured.
Her voice was calm. Smooth. Almost amused.
She lifted her hand, fingers adorned with rings older than the buildings beneath her. Black magic coiled around her wrist, invisible to human eyes but heavy enough to make the air vibrate. Somewhere in the city, alarms malfunctioned. Lights flickered. A man on the street below suddenly forgot where he was going.
Zara smiled faintly.
She enjoyed small effects.
Chaos didn't always need explosions. Sometimes it only needed confusion.
Behind her, shadows gathered unnaturally, peeling themselves off the concrete rooftop like wet ink. They twisted, merged, and rose—forming a figure that bowed low.
"The book remains unstable," the shadow said, voice distorted. "The girl is resisting."
Zara's smile widened.
"Of course she is."
She turned slowly, white hair slicing through the darkness. "That's what makes it personal."
The book had once been harmless. A story. A simple piece of entertainment passed between bored hands. It was never meant to be a doorway. Never meant to be a cage.
Until she touched it.
Zara hadn't destroyed the book.
She had claimed it.
Infused it with black magic so deep it bled into the reader's soul. Anyone drawn into it didn't just read the story—they became part of it. Their fears, memories, love, and pain became tools for her amusement.
Anna was different.
Anna fought back.
Zara hated resistance almost as much as she loved it.
"The girl thinks love will save her," the shadow continued.
Zara laughed—soft, melodic, cruel. "Love is my favorite weakness."
She waved her hand, and the shadow dissolved instantly, dragged back into nothingness. Zara stepped closer to the edge of the rooftop, staring down at the city again.
Somewhere out there, Anna existed—breathing, hurting, hoping.
And somewhere else entirely, someone was looking for her.
Alex hadn't slept in two days.
His apartment was a mess—papers scattered across the floor, laptop screens glowing with half-open tabs, maps, articles, forums. Coffee sat untouched on the table, gone cold hours ago.
"Come on," he muttered, running a hand through his hair. "This doesn't make sense."
Anna didn't just disappear.
She wasn't careless. She wasn't impulsive. Every lead he followed ended in nothing—dead ends, wrong timelines, people who swore they had seen her and then couldn't remember details minutes later.
That scared him more than silence.
He replayed the last message she had sent him. Again. And again.
Something about it felt off now. Like words written under pressure. Like a goodbye disguised as normal conversation.
Alex slammed his laptop shut and stood abruptly, pacing the room. "You're out there," he said aloud, voice rough. "I know you are."
He had gone to the police. They told him to wait.
He had searched hospitals. Nothing.
He had checked airports, train stations, CCTV footage in William's house. Sometimes he thought he saw her—just a blur, a reflection—but when he zoomed in, the image warped, distorted, like reality itself refused to cooperate.
His phone buzzed suddenly.
Alex froze.
Unknown number.
He answered immediately. "Anna?"
Silence.
Then—a sound. Static. And beneath it, something else. A faint whisper he couldn't understand.
The call cut off.
Alex stared at the phone, heart pounding.
"What are you mixed up in?" he whispered.
Unseen by him, unseen by the world, black magic rippled briefly through the room—so subtle it could be mistaken for imagination.
On a rooftop miles away, Zara tilted her head, listening.
"Good," she said softly. "Look for her."
Her black eyes gleamed with anticipation.
Because hope made people predictable.
And predictable people were easy to break.
The void was silent.
Too silent.
Anna stood still, her breath coming out in short, shaky gasps. The cold pressed against her skin again, sharper now, as if the space itself had grown impatient. Her father's arms were gone. His warmth—vanished.
"Dad…?" she whispered.
No answer.
The darkness around her shifted, not moving closer, not pulling away—just watching .
Then—
Clap
A single sound echoed through the void.
Slow. Deliberate.
Anna froze.
From the shadows, a figure emerged, heels clicking softly against nothingness, as if the void had decided to become solid just for her. Long white hair spilled down her back like spilled moonlight, perfectly straight, perfectly cruel. Black clothes clung to her frame, sharp and intentional.
Her eyes—
Anna's breath hitched.
They were black. Not dark. Not shadowed.
Black.
"So this is you," the woman said lightly, her voice smooth with amusement. "The girl everyone keeps ruining my book for."
Anna tried to step back.
Her body didn't listen.
"Don't worry," the woman continued, tilting her head, studying Anna the way one might study a broken toy. "You're not special because you're strong."
She smiled.
"You're special because you still believe someone will save you."
Anna's lips trembled. "Who… who are you?"
The woman stepped closer.
The cold vanished. The pressure intensified.
"I am Zara," she said softly. "And you've been in my world far longer than you realize."
Behind Zara, the void裂—cracked like glass.
Anna saw flashes: Shou reaching for her and failing. Alex calling her name into silence. Her father turning away, his face filled with regret.
Zara leaned down, whispering into Anna's ear—
"And tomorrow," she murmured, "I decide whether you wake up… or disappear like the rest."
The void collapsed.
And Anna screamed—
---
To be continued...