Mira didn't return home that night. She couldn't—not after what she'd seen, not after hearing the whisper that still echoed faintly at the back of her mind. Alex didn't even ask if she wanted company; he simply walked with her out of the university, guiding her as though she were sleepwalking. She barely noticed the city lights as they passed, their glow distorted as if smeared by invisible hands.
They ended up at Alex's apartment, not far from campus. The building was old but warm, filled with the soft hum of televisions and murmured conversations from behind neighboring doors. It felt safer than her own place, but only barely. As soon as Alex shut the door behind them, Mira leaned her back against the wall and slid down until she was sitting on the floor.
Alex knelt beside her. "You're shaking."
"I'm fine," she said automatically, even though her trembling hands contradicted her.
He didn't call her on it. He just stayed beside her, close but not touching, giving her room to breathe. After a moment, he stood and grabbed her a glass of water. She drank it slowly, the coldness grounding her slightly.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked gently.
"No," Mira breathed. "But we should."
Alex sat down beside her, his shoulder brushing hers lightly. The contact felt stabilizing, like holding onto an anchor in a storm.
"That thing," she whispered, staring at the floor. "It didn't just look at me. It… recognized me."
Alex's jaw tightened. "That doesn't mean anything. Not yet."
"It said I opened the door," Mira insisted. "It wasn't angry. It wasn't confused. It sounded… expectant. Like this was something I was always meant to do."
Alex hesitated. "Your mother wrote that you were the key to the boundary. What if—"
"Stop," Mira cut in quickly. "Don't finish that."
They both knew what he meant. Mira was the catalyst. All of this chaos was unraveling around her, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.
She hugged her knees to her chest, letting silence settle for a moment.
"It felt like something pulled at me," she said finally. "Like it wanted me to step closer. Like… like it was a part of me."
Alex's eyes softened. "You're not it. And it's not you."
Mira didn't answer. She wasn't sure she believed that anymore.
After a long moment, Alex stood. "Come on. You need rest."
"I won't be able to sleep."
"I know," he said, offering his hand. "But lying down is better than collapsing."
Reluctantly, she let him help her up. He offered her his bed, insisting he'd sleep on the couch. She knew he wouldn't sleep either, not until she did.
She lay beneath his blankets, staring at the dim glow of the streetlamp outside his window. Every shape in the room looked vaguely distorted, like someone had stretched the edges of objects just enough for her to notice. She closed her eyes anyway, forcing her breath to slow.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
It wasn't restful sleep.
She dreamed of corridors—long, narrow, twisting hallways where the walls pulsed like living tissue. Every time she turned a corner, the same shadow figure waited, expressionless, featureless. It lifted a hand toward her, and though she tried to scream, the air collapsed in her throat. Something tightened around her wrist, cold and sharp, like a brand being pressed into her skin.
She woke choking on her breath.
Her heart hammered wildly as she sat up. For a moment she wasn't sure where she was; the shadows in Alex's room felt too dark, too thick. She rubbed her face, trying to shake off the last fragments of the dream.
Footsteps sounded outside the door.
She stiffened.
"Mira?" Alex's voice called softly.
She exhaled shakily. "Yeah. I'm awake."
Alex opened the door a crack and peeked inside. His hair was messy from running his hands through it—one of his anxious habits—and he looked like he hadn't slept a moment.
"I heard you," he said quietly. "Nightmare?"
"Something like that."
He came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "You want to talk about it?"
She shook her head, and he didn't push.
After a moment, Mira said, "I need to go back to my mother's journals. There's something I'm missing."
Alex nodded. "Then we'll start first thing in the morning."
Mira glanced toward the window. The sky was still pitch black.
"It is morning."
He sighed. "Fine. After coffee."
She managed a small laugh, though her chest still felt tight.
Alex left the room to make coffee, and Mira swung her legs over the side of the bed. She stood slowly, testing her balance. The floor felt solid beneath her feet, at least. She walked to the window.
Outside, the streetlamp flickered once, twice—then went out.
The darkness below churned.
No. Not churned. Shifted.
Something down there moved.
Mira stepped back instinctively. Her breath caught when the streetlamp flared back to life a second later. The sidewalk looked normal again. Empty.
She let out a shaky breath.
"Coffee," Alex said, reappearing in the doorway with two steaming mugs. "Black for you. Unless you want sugar today."
"No," she said. "Black is fine."
He handed her the mug and sat on the bed beside her. They drank in silence for a moment.
"We need to get back to the archive," Mira said finally. "My mother's journals. The tapes. All of it."
Alex nodded. "And Harrow?"
"We should talk to him again," Mira admitted. "But something's wrong with him. He knew more than he said yesterday."
Alex didn't argue. He never did when it came to her instincts. Instead he stood and grabbed his jacket, handing her hers as well.
They left the apartment together, walking down the empty hallway. The lights above buzzed faintly, one flickering sporadically. Mira forced herself not to look at the fluttering shadow beneath it.
The city outside felt unnaturally quiet. The usual morning hum was muffled somehow, like sound itself had thickened. Mira sensed movement behind windows, behind cracks in walls, beneath sewer grates. Everything felt like it was watching her.
They reached the university in record time. Mira's footsteps echoed too loudly in the empty corridors, and for a moment she wondered if the building was shifting, preparing to swallow them whole. Alex must have sensed her tension because he touched her elbow gently.
"I'm here," he whispered.
She nodded and exhaled.
When they reached Harrow's makeshift lab, Mira stopped abruptly.
The door was open wider than last night.
Alex whispered, "That's not good."
Mira stepped inside slowly, her breath caught in her throat.
The room was a mess.
Papers strewn across the floor. A chair knocked over. Harrow's monitoring equipment smashed, wires tangled like veins spilling across the tiles. The overhead light swung slowly, creaking back and forth, illuminating the room in unnerving slashes.
"Harrow?" Mira called, voice trembling. "Dr. Harrow?"
Silence answered.
Alex crouched near the fallen chair, examining scratch marks on the floor. "These weren't here yesterday."
Mira's gaze drifted toward the far corner—the same corner where the shadow had formed the day before.
She saw it immediately.
A dark smear on the wall, shaped like a handprint. But the fingers were too long. Too thin. Too wrong.
Mira felt a chill crawl down her spine.
"Something came through," she whispered.
Alex stood slowly. "And Harrow…"
He didn't finish, but he didn't need to. Mira already knew.
Harrow was gone.
Taken. Pulled. Consumed. She wasn't sure which was worse.
She stepped slowly toward the table where they'd reviewed her mother's journals. Only one remained intact, lying open as if Harrow had been reading it when everything happened. The page was marked with her mother's hurried handwriting.
Mira leaned closer.
"If the boundary reaches for her, she will hear it through the walls first. When that happens, the breach is no longer dormant. It is choosing her."
Mira's breath hitched.
Choosing her? For what?
Alex placed a steady hand on her shoulder, grounding her. "Mira… we need to leave. This place isn't safe."
She nodded slowly. "Yes. But we take the journals. All of them."
"Of course."
As Alex gathered the scattered notebooks, Mira felt a soft vibration beneath her feet. Almost like a pulse. The walls hummed faintly, as if something massive shifted behind them.
She froze, eyes widening.
"Mira?" Alex asked softly.
"Quiet," she whispered.
The hum grew louder.
A faint whisper spread through the room—like wind passing through a narrow crack. Except it wasn't wind. Mira knew that voice, even if it wasn't fully formed.
Come.
She stumbled backward, shaking her head violently. "No. No. It's here."
Alex grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the door. "We're leaving. Now."
They ran, Mira trying not to look at the walls that seemed to ripple as they passed, as though something pushed against them from the inside. The hallway twisted slightly—not physically, but perceptually—elongating, narrowing, shifting in her peripheral vision.
The whisper followed them.
Come back.
Mira clenched Alex's hand tightly, her breath ragged.
They burst out of the restricted wing, slamming the door behind them. The hum faded instantly. The walls stilled. The hallway returned to normal.
Mira leaned against the wall, chest heaving.
Alex cupped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Look at me. You're okay. I've got you."
She shook her head weakly. "Alex… it's choosing me."
He swallowed, his voice steady but his eyes full of fear. "Then we choose each other. And we fight it."
Mira closed her eyes as tears burned behind them.
The boundary wasn't waiting anymore. It wasn't whispering from afar. It was at the walls. It was inside the university. It had taken Harrow.
And now, it wanted her.