Isabella sat on the wooden bench by the second-floor library window. The room was quiet, the only sound coming from the old fan turning lazily above her. Outside, the late-afternoon light slanted in and fell across the pages of a book she hadn't truly read. Her fingers tapped the table, restless, as if searching for a rhythm to steady her thoughts.
Elanor arrived a few minutes later, her steps quick, hair slightly messy as if she had just run. "Sorry, I'm late. The traffic was insane and I forgot my keys were in the other jacket pocket," she said, dropping into the seat across from her.
Isabella closed the book. "It's fine. I just sat down."
"But your face looks like you've been waiting an hour," Elanor teased.
"Because I've been thinking," Isabella answered quietly.
Elanor raised a brow. "About yesterday?"
Isabella nodded. "About everything that suddenly appeared without explanation. The mark on my door. Those footsteps. And…" She paused, searching for words that wouldn't sound dramatic. "And that dream the one that never changes."
Elanor leaned forward, her voice soft. "Still the same dream? The fog, that whisper you can barely hear, and the silhouette?"
"Yes… and it feels closer now," Isabella said. "Like someone's standing just behind the wall."
Elanor exhaled slowly. "Is, I'm not trying to scare you. But all of this… it's too much to be random. Especially after I saw that mark myself."
Isabella turned to her. "You're sure it wasn't just scratches or a stray cat?"
"Elanor looked at her seriously. "No, Is. That wasn't a scratch. The shape was too precise. Like someone left it there on purpose for you."
Isabella clasped her hands together, uneasy. She didn't like where this was going, but she knew Elanor never exaggerated. If she said something was strange, it usually was. "So someone's been watching me?" she whispered.
"For a long time," Elanor replied. "I just don't know who."
Silence settled between them not the awkward kind, but the kind that feels like the first step toward something bigger than either of them is ready for.
"El," Isabella finally said, breaking it. "If I tell you… that the shadow feels familiar, would you believe me?"
Elanor nodded immediately. "I'd believe you before you explain."
Isabella swallowed. "I don't know why, but I feel like I've seen it before. Not in real life… maybe in some old memory, maybe in something I lost."
Elanor moved closer, her voice steady. "Whatever this is, we'll figure it out together. And it starts with one thing: we need to go back to that place."
Isabella looked at her. "The one on the edge of town?"
"Yeah. The first sign appeared there. If there's anything else, the next trace will be around it."
Isabella hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. Tonight?"
Elanor gave a small smile. "Tonight."
Something flickered inside Isabella not full courage, but enough to make her rise from her seat. "If it turns out this isn't just a mark?"
"Then we're opening a door that was meant to be opened," Elanor said.
And somehow, those words made Isabella realize one thing: whatever waited on the other side of that door… had been waiting far too long.
Elanor parked her motorbike beside the narrow alley two blocks from Isabella's apartment. The sun had already slipped behind the buildings, leaving the sky washed in a muted violet. Streetlamps buzzed to life one by one, their glow soft but uneasy, as if reluctant to light the path that lay ahead.
Isabella wrapped her coat tighter around her. "It feels colder than usual," she murmured.
"That's because you're nervous," Elanor replied, locking her helmet on the bike. "And don't pretend you're not."
"I'm not pretending. I'm trying not to think about what we might find."
Elanor slipped her hands into her pockets. "Good. Because if we overthink this, we'll turn around before we even step inside."
They walked side by side, their footsteps echoing between the cracked brick walls. The alley narrowed, then opened into a small courtyard quiet, deserted, and dimly lit. At the center stood the old warehouse that Isabella avoided for years without understanding why.
The first mark had appeared on its side door three nights ago.
A thin line carved in metal, curved like a crescent touching a vertical slit almost like an eye closing.
Isabella swallowed. "It's still there."
"Then let's see if someone added anything," Elanor said, moving closer.
They crouched by the metal door. The old mark remained, but something else shimmered faintly beneath it thin scratches, barely visible unless the light struck them at a certain angle.
Elanor's voice dropped. "Is, look…"
Isabella leaned in beside her. "That wasn't here before."
"No. And it's not random." Elanor traced the air above the scratches, careful not to touch. "They look like"
"Letters," Isabella whispered. "But not English. Or anything I've seen."
The lines formed shapes too curved to be Latin, too sharp to be Arabic, too fluid to be anything familiar. It was writing, yes
but from where?
Elanor stood, eyes narrowing. "This is getting bigger than we thought."
A faint rustle came from the shadowed side of the courtyard.
Both women froze.
Elanor placed her hand on Isabella's arm, a silent warning. "Stay behind me."
"No, El.."
"Just for now."
The sound came again. A soft scrape. Slow. Deliberate.
Isabella's pulse hammered in her ears. Someone was there. Watching. Waiting.
"El," she whispered, "don't go closer"
But Elanor stepped forward, her voice firm. "Who's there?"
Silence answered.
Then a low creak a door, maybe, or something heavier shifting in the dark.
Isabella tugged Elanor's sleeve. "Let's not do this here. Not without light."
Elanor hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. Back to the main street. Quietly."
They moved, steady but quick, until the alley widened and the warm glow of the main road came into view. Only then did Isabella breathe again.
"El," she said, stopping under a flickering streetlamp, "that writing… I don't understand why I feel this way, but I've seen it before."
Elanor turned sharply. "Where?"
"I… don't know," Isabella admitted. "It's like something stuck in the back of my memory. Something I might've forgotten on purpose."
Elanor softened her voice. "Is, listen to me. People don't forget things 'on purpose' unless something shook them badly. Maybe this isn't just about a mark. Maybe this is about your past."
Isabella looked down at her hands. They were trembling.
"If it is," she whispered, "why is it resurfacing now?"
"Because someone or something is forcing it to," Elanor said.
The weight of those words settled heavily between them.
A passing bus roared by, washing them in brief white light. For a moment, Isabella's reflection flashed in the glass and she gasped.
"El…"
"What?"
"I saw it again. The silhouette. Behind me. Just for a second."
Elanor grabbed her shoulders. "Look at me. Was it the same as in your dreams?"
"Yes," Isabella breathed. "The same distance. The same presence."
Elanor's jaw tightened. "Then we don't run from this anymore. We find out what it is, and why it's coming closer."
Isabella closed her eyes, steadying her breath. "Alright. Tell me what we do next."
Elanor didn't answer immediately. She looked at Isabella the way someone looks at a locked door they're finally willing to open.
"We go back tomorrow," she said. "Not at dusk. Not at night. At dawn. When shadows are weakest."
"And if the writing spreads?" Isabella asked.
"Then whoever left it for you," Elanor replied, "has decided the time has come."
Isabella felt something stir deep inside
her fear, yes, but also a strange pull, like a thread tugging her toward a truth she could no longer avoid.
"El," she whispered, "stay with me tonight."
Elanor's expression softened. "Of course."
They walked away from the alley two silhouettes moving under the cold lights of the city unaware that from the dark courtyard behind them, something watched…
…and stepped forward.