Morning in London had a quiet cruelty to
it grey skies that pressed low, wind scraping across narrow streets, and a kind of cold that felt like it lived more inside the bones than outside them.
Elanor woke before Isabella.
They had both fallen asleep on the sofa sometime after three in the morning, exhaustion finally winning after hours of restless conversation, scribbled theories, and one too many glances toward the apartment windows as if someone or something might be lingering beyond the glass.
Isabella's head rested lightly on Elanor's shoulder. Her breathing was soft, steady, almost fragile in a way she rarely allowed others to see.
Elanor didn't move.
Not the slightest shift.
She simply watched her memorizing the calm before the inevitable storm.
But peace never lasted long in their world.
A vibration broke the stillness.
Elanor's phone.
She grabbed it quickly so it wouldn't wake Isabella.
One new message.
From an unknown number.
"You shouldn't have touched the door."
Elanor froze.
Her breath stopped.
The phone slipped slightly from her grip.
And the moment her pulse spiked
Isabella stirred.
"El?" Her voice was thick with sleep. "What time is."
She stopped when she saw Elanor's face.
"What happened?"
Elanor showed her the screen.
Isabella's sleepiness evaporated instantly.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the sofa. "They know we were there."
Elanor stood, pacing once, mind sharpening like a blade. "They were watching. Last night. Or they returned after we left."
Isabella rose too. "Why send a message? Why warn us?"
Elanor's jaw tightened. "Because whatever they want… it isn't to scare us away."
Her eyes darkened.
"It's to pull us in."
Isabella shivered not from cold, but from understanding.
"Then we go now," she said. "Before the trail goes cold."
Elanor picked up her jacket.
"No. We go prepared."
Isabella blinked. "Prepared for what?"
Elanor looked at her with an expression Isabella had only seen twice before in moments where Elanor stopped being gentle and became something sharper, something shaped by survival rather than emotion.
"For whoever is writing messages on metal doors in languages that don't exist."
Isabella swallowed.
"Fine. Ten minutes."
She hurried to get ready.
Elanor checked the message again.
One more bubble appeared.
"Dawn reveals what night conceals. You have one chance."
Isabella emerged from the bedroom just as Elanor's grip tightened around the phone.
"El," she whispered, "what now?"
"We go," Elanor said, "right now."
They left the apartment quickly, moving through the chilled morning streets while London was still half-asleep. A low fog drifted across the pavement, swirling around their ankles as if leading the way.
The alley appeared the same at first glance quiet, empty, still.
But something was different.
Isabella noticed it first.
"Elanor… the warehouse door."
Elanor looked up sharply.
The carved symbol the crescent touching the slit had changed.
It was no longer faint, no longer subtle.
It was glowing.
Not brightly, but with a low, pulsing shimmer, like metal heated from the inside.
Isabella's heart hammered. "That wasn't there last night."
Elanor moved closer slowly, steps controlled, shoulders tense. "Stay behind me."
Isabella obeyed this time.
The closer they came, the clearer the change became. The scratches beneath the symbol the unreadable script had multiplied. More lines, more curves, more impossible shapes, as if the language was finishing a sentence.
"El?" Isabella whispered. "What does it mean?"
Elanor didn't answer.
She was too focused on something else.
The door was slightly open.
Barely a crack.
Just enough to reveal darkness inside.
"Elanor," Isabella said sharply, "we're not going in there."
But Elanor wasn't listening.
She was listening to something else.
A sound.
Faint. Echoing. Coming from behind the door.
Slow breathing.
Not theirs.
"El," Isabella whispered, stepping closer, "if someone is inside."
"I know," Elanor murmured. "Which is why we're not leaving."
Isabella grabbed her arm. "We don't know what's in there."
"We will," Elanor said quietly, "as soon as we open the door."
"No"
But it was too late.
Elanor pushed.
The metal groaned softly.
The darkness inside was absolute thick, heavy, swallowing the thin morning light.
"Elanor," Isabella whispered, voice trembling, "please don't."
Elanor lifted her phone, using its flashlight.
The beam cut through the dark.
And the first thing it revealed was
Footprints.
Dozens of them.
Bare footprints.
Too small to be adult.
Too large to be a child's.
All leading deeper into the warehouse.
"Elanor," Isabella breathed, "this place… it feels wrong."
Elanor scanned the space carefully. "Someone's been living here."
"No," Isabella murmured, shaking her head. "I don't think someone lived here."
Elanor turned. "Then what?"
Isabella pointed to the far wall.
The symbol, the same crescent-slit shape, was carved again huge, spreading across the concrete like a wound.
But below it.
Isabella's blood ran cold.
"Elanor…" she whispered, voice cracking, "that's my name."
It was written there.
Not carved.
Not scratched.
Not glowing.
Painted.
In bold black strokes.
ISABELLA.
Elanor's heartbeat slammed into her ribs.
She stepped in front of Isabella instantly. "Stay behind me. Don't look at anything else."
But Isabella already had.
Her breath hitched.
"El…"
Elanor turned.
More writing covered the wall.
Not in the strange language.
But in English.
Smeared, uneven, desperate.
"SHE IS RETURNING."
"THE DOOR OPENED BECAUSE OF HER."
"DON'T LET HER REMEMBER."
Isabella trembled violently. "Elanor… what does this mean?"
Elanor grabbed her shoulders gently but firmly. "Hey. Look at me. Right here. Focus."
Isabella looked up, eyes wide, terrified.
"El," she whispered, "why my name? Why any of this?"
Elanor held her steady.
"Because someone is trying to drag you into something you were never meant to escape."
Isabella's breath caught.
"El…"
Elanor's voice dropped, fierce and soft at once.
"And I'm not letting anyone take you."
A sharp noise cut through the warehouse.
A small object rolled across the floor.
Isabella gasped.
"Elanor."
Elanor spun, stepping in front of her instinctively.
Just as the object stopped at their feet.
A marble.
White.
Perfectly round.
But when the flashlight hit it.
A crack shimmered across its surface.
Then another.
And another.
Until it split.
Releasing a thin wisp of smoke…
shaped almost like a hand reaching upward.
"El?" Isabella whispered, stepping back. "What is that? What is."
A voice whispered through the warehouse.
Soft. Too soft to place.
Too soft to be human.
"She remembers."
Isabella clutched Elanor's arm, trembling uncontrollably. "No no El, we need to
leave now we need to."
"I know," Elanor snapped, grabbing her hand. "Run."
They sprinted toward the exit, boots slamming against concrete, breath ragged, the whispering voice growing
not louder
but closer.
Elanor shoved the door open
light flooded in
and they burst into the morning air.
Isabella collapsed against the brick wall, chest heaving, eyes wide with panic.
"El what what was that what is happening to me?"
Elanor cupped her face with both hands, forcing her to look directly at her.
"Isabella," she said, voice low, steady, unyielding,
"I will find out who's doing this.
I will find out why.
But listen to me.
You're not alone in this.
Not ever."
Isabella's voice cracked.
"Why me?"
Elanor didn't answer right away.
Because the truth was beginning to take shape.
Because the markings weren't random.
Because the voice wasn't new.
Because the fear in Isabella's eyes wasn't from something unfamiliar.
but something forgotten.
"El," Isabella whispered, "you're scaring me."
Elanor swallowed.
"I think someone from your past," she said quietly, "is calling you back."
Isabella's hand trembled against hers.
"El…"
But Elanor held her tighter.
"Whatever this is," she murmured, "we face it together."
Behind them, inside the warehouse, the whispering fell silent.
And on the wall, beneath Isabella's painted name.
a new line appeared in the strange script.
Fresh.
Wet.
Still forming.
As if written
by something still breathing in the dark.