POV ( Alex ) :
Alex decided, with great certainty, that this was what spirals felt like.
Not dramatic spirals—no shouting, no explosions, no sudden betrayals. Just the quiet kind, where things kept happening whether you agreed to them or not.
They were back at the river again. Because apparently that was where all bad decisions went to think.
Sam lay on the grass staring up at the sky. "If this is how haunted locations work now, I want a refund. No chains. No fog. Just passive-aggressive notes."
Lena flicked a pebble into the water. "You're coping."
"I cope loudly," Sam replied.
Jordan sat cross-legged, notebook out, writing and crossing things out in sharp, angry strokes. "The building responding in written language indicates adaptive intelligence."
Riley glanced at him. "You say that like it's not horrifying."
Alex wasn't listening to any of them. He was replaying Ms. Calder's voice in his head.
"If you were looking for something that didn't exist…"
She knew. Not everything—but enough.
And the building knew that she knew.
Which meant this wasn't contained anymore.
"We need to pull back," Alex said.
Five heads turned toward him.
Sam blinked. "From the building?"
"From everything," Alex said. "No visits. No talking about it where people can overhear. No—" He hesitated. "No involving anyone else."
Maya hugged her sketchbook tighter. "That's not how it works."
Alex met her eyes. "It has to be."
"It's already adapting," Jordan said. "Avoidance might not reduce exposure—it could increase it."
Sam groaned. "I hate when you side with the impossible building."
"I'm not siding with it," Jordan said. "I'm acknowledging it."
Lena looked between them. "Okay, pause. We're doing the thing where Alex goes full disaster-prevention mode and Jordan starts sounding like he wants to interview the monster."
Sam raised his hand. "And I make jokes until I implode."
Riley said nothing, staring toward the service road.
Alex noticed. He always noticed.
"What?" he asked.
Riley hesitated. "It feels closer."
"That's not possible," Jordan said automatically.
Riley shrugged. "I didn't say physically."
Alex stood. "We're leaving."
No one argued this time.
That scared him more than if they had.
---
Alex's house was quiet in the way that made your thoughts louder.
He dumped his backpack by the door and went straight to the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets without really looking inside them. He needed something solid. Predictable.
Food helped. Sometimes.
He poured a glass of water and froze.
On the fridge, held up by a red magnet shaped like a strawberry, was a piece of paper.
Plain. Unlined.
His handwriting.
REMEMBER THE FLOOR THAT WAS NEVER BUILT.
His pulse spiked.
He hadn't written that.
He knew his own handwriting.
Alex backed away slowly, heart pounding.
"Mom?" he called.
No answer.
The house creaked softly, settling.
He ripped the note down and crumpled it in his fist.
"Not funny," he muttered—to himself, to the house, to whatever was listening.
His phone buzzed.
Sam: Dude, please tell me ur fridge isn't haunted .
Alex stared at the screen.
Alex: Why?
Three dots appeared instantly.
Sam: because mine just played a voicemail from a number that doesn't exist.
Lena: SAME
Jordan:Mine displayed a calendar reminder I did not set.
Riley:The building is reaching outward.
Alex's stomach dropped.
Alex:Everyone stop. Power off the phones. Meet at the park. Now.
---
They gathered near the old swing set, the one with the bent chain that squealed no matter how gently you moved it.
Sam paced. "Okay, so quick poll: who else is considering smashing their phone with a rock?"
Jordan raised a hand. "Tempting."
Lena crossed her arms. "It played my mom's voice. Saying my name."
Maya went pale. "From when?"
"From when she still lived here," Lena said quietly.
Alex clenched his fists. "It's pulling from memory."
"Selective memory," Jordan said. "Personal relevance."
Sam laughed once, brittle. "Wow. Love that for us."
Riley looked at Alex. "This is why you can't pull back."
Alex swallowed. "I know."
He hated that they were right.
Maya spoke softly. "It's not trying to scare us."
Sam stared at her. "You keep saying that like it helps."
"It's trying to connect," she continued. "But it doesn't understand boundaries."
Lena huffed. "Same."
Alex took a breath. "Okay. New rules."
Sam saluted weakly. "Rules 2.0."
"No one is alone," Alex said. "Not tonight. Not for a while."
Jordan nodded. "Agreed."
"And," Alex added, "we don't ignore this."
Sam blinked. "You just said—"
"I said we don't involve adults," Alex said. "I didn't say we pretend it's not happening."
Riley's shoulders eased slightly. "So what do we do?"
Alex looked toward the service road.
Toward the building they weren't supposed to need.
"We observe," he said. "Carefully, Together."
Sam sighed. "I miss when summer meant boredom."
As if summoned by the word, the air shifted.
A low hum threaded through the park, subtle enough that anyone else would miss it.
The swing chain stopped squealing.
The river stilled for half a second.
Maya whispered, "It heard that."
Alex felt the familiar cold settle in his chest.
"Okay," Sam said quickly, forcing a grin. "That's new. Don't love that."
They all felt it then.
Not a pull.
Not a command.
An invitation—no, a reminder.
Alex exhaled slowly.
Whatever this was becoming, it wasn't waiting anymore.
And for the first time since finding the building, he understood something clearly:
This wasn't a mystery they could solve and walk away from.
It was a relationship.
And it had already learned all their names.
---