Morning came too quickly.
Evan woke with a stiffness in his chest, it was as if a weight had settled there overnight. For a second, he expected the wrongness to surge back through him. But there was only a faint hum, distant and watchful.
He lay still, listening.
The campus was waking up. Doors slamming. Someone laughing in the hallway. The usual footsteps of early risers dragging themselves to morning lecture.
Normal.
Everything sounded normal.
He wasn't sure if that comforted him or terrified him more.
Evan forced himself out of bed, splashed water on his face, and avoided his own reflection when he reached for the cabinet mirror. The box cutter slipped easily into his pocket. It was an absurd weapon, but the only one he had.
He told himself it was a just precaution.
He didn't believe it.
As he stepped outside, the sunlight washed over campus in its usual morning warmth. Students rushed past him with arms full of books, half-awake and grumbling about deadlines and midterms.
He kept his head low.
He didn't look for Mei.
Avoiding her was easier than lying to her face.
He made it through his first class without incident, then the second, then lunch.
He kept expecting something to happen, for something to crack open, for something to move from the corner of his vision. But nothing came.
It was just routine.
And like that, three days had passed—quiet, ordinary, and unbearably tense.
Evan attended lectures, ate in the crowded cafeterias, smiled when people greeted him, sat through group discussions, pretended to take notes.
All while his hand stayed near his pocket.
All while he scanned every reflection in a window for things that shouldn't be there.
No one noticed the way he'd changed.
Except Mei.
She watched him from across lecture halls, from café tables, from the other end of hallways. She was quiet, worried and patient in the way only she could be. She didn't press, not yet.
But she waited.
And Evan felt that weight every time he sensed her eyes on him.
As these peaceful days progressed, a fragile thought began to form:
Maybe Kaira was wrong.
Maybe nothing was going to happen.
He almost let himself believe it.
Then on the fourth day, the universe finally stopped pretending.
That morning, he forced himself into routine. He left early, the concealed weight of the knife was pressed against his side. Though tense, he was more relaxed than the days before.
He went about his day as usual. Well… as usual as he could manage.
But then.
It was subtle.
But he felt it.
A flicker of unease while he crossed the campus courtyard.
Then again in the cafeteria.
The hum in his chest tightened.
Somewhere in the room, reality felt… thin.
He froze mid-step, tray in hand, pretending to look for a seat while his senses sharpened.
Something was off.
The wrongness had found him again.
He swallowed and forced himself to move naturally, slipping into the flow of students and choosing a seat with his back to a wall. His fingers brushed the box cutter in his pocket, grounding him.
His eyes scanned the room.
Nothing unusual.
The feeling didn't go away.
Sometimes it vanished, other times it coiled right behind him.
But it never truly arrived.
By evening, Evan was exhausted from pretending not to be afraid.
But still, he kept acting normal, kept his steps steady, kept his breathing even.
Because Kaira's warning echoed in his mind:
"There are no coincidences."
And for the first time since returning to campus, he believed her completely.
The rest of the day dragged on with that same feeling in the air.
By nightfall, the wrongness faded again, slipping out of reach like a shadow stepping backward.
Evan went to bed with the lights on.
The next day, it returned.
Not constant, but appearing in flashes.
A ripple at the edge of his vision as he walked between buildings.
A brief pressure, like someone standing too close behind him in a crowd.
Each time he stopped and acted as though he'd forgotten something, or he'd adjust his bag, or pretended to check his phone.
Nothing came of it.
The second day passed.
On the morning of the third, he'd felt almost numb to it.
He took the long way around buildings.
Chose seats with clear exits.
Avoided empty corridors.
He avoided Mei even more.
She noticed, but she didn't chase him. She waited, her face hardening with each passing day.
So did his heart.
And the wrongness watched him too, slipping in and out of the world with the indifference of something testing the surface before deciding where to break through.
Three days.
Three days of tension wound tight around his ribs.
Three days of pretending.
Three days of that flicker of unease appearing just long enough to remind him:
He was not safe and that there was something after him.
But life didn't stop for him.
Classes passed like usual, with voices droning, pens scratching and the rhythmic shuffle of backpacks and chairs. Everyone else moved through their day as if the world was what it had always been.
He tried to move with them.
The only thing different today was his weekly appointment with his advisor. This was a mandatory check-in about course loads, deadlines, and graduation requirements.
A part of the life he was trying, desperately, not to let slip away from him.
He forced himself to maintain his usual pace as he stepped onto the stone path leading to the office building. Students passed him on all sides. Someone laughed behind him. A gust of wind rustled the leaves overhead.
For a brief moment, it felt almost peaceful.
Almost.
But then the hum in his chest tightened again.
He swallowed hard, trying to ignore it.
He had to get through this meeting.He had to keep living like he wasn't being hunted by something he didn't understand.
He kept walking.
And the world kept watching.