The wind should have been cold.
It was always cold in early autumn — crisp enough to sting her cheeks as she ran, sharp enough to fill her lungs with the metallic taste of the season. But tonight, the air felt wrong. Too warm. Too still. As if the world had forgotten how to breathe.
Her footsteps pounded against the pavement, echoing louder than they should have. The streetlights flickered overhead, each one dimming as she passed beneath it, like a row of dying stars.
She didn't know where she was running to.
Only that she had to get away from the playground. Away from the thing that stepped into the sand behind her. Away from the boy who vanished like a glitch in reality.
Eli.
She didn't know what he was — not human, not exactly — but he had been afraid. That alone terrified her more than anything else.
She slowed only when her lungs burned and her legs trembled. She found herself on a quiet residential street, identical houses lined up like obedient soldiers. She had walked this street in every lifetime. She knew which mailbox had a dent, which porch light flickered, which dog barked at strangers.
But tonight, the street felt… hollow.
Like a set built for a play no one was performing anymore.
She leaned against a lamppost, trying to steady her breathing.
Think. Think.
What did she know?
She had broken the script.
Eli had appeared early.
Something else had followed.
And now the world felt like it was unraveling at the edges.
A soft sound broke the silence.
A whisper.
Not words — more like the rustle of fabric, or the shifting of something large just out of sight.
She straightened, heart hammering.
"Hello?" she called, instantly regretting it.
The whispering stopped.
The street went dead silent.
She took a step back, gripping the lamppost as if it could anchor her to reality. The metal felt warm under her hand, as if it had been sitting in the sun all day. Too warm.
But it was night.
A shadow moved at the far end of the street.
She squinted, trying to make out its shape. It was tall. Too tall. Its proportions were wrong — limbs slightly too long, posture slightly too bent, like a marionette held by invisible strings.
Her breath caught.
The shadow took a step toward her.
The streetlight above her flickered violently, buzzing like an angry insect. She pressed herself against the lamppost, wishing she could melt into it.
The shadow took another step.
Then another.
It moved without sound, without weight, without the natural rhythm of a living thing. It was like watching a puppet jerk forward frame by frame.
Her mind screamed at her to run.
Her body refused to move.
The shadow reached the edge of the light.
And stopped.
It didn't enter the glow. It hovered just outside it, as if the light were a barrier it couldn't cross. She could see its outline now — tall, thin, head tilted at an unnatural angle.
It didn't breathe.
It didn't blink.
It simply watched her.
Her voice trembled. "What do you want?"
The shadow twitched.
Not a human twitch — a sharp, mechanical jerk, like a corrupted animation.
Then it spoke.
Not with a voice.
With many.
A chorus of whispers layered over each other, rising and falling like static.
[Return.]
Her blood turned to ice.
[Return to the path.]
She stepped backwards, almost stumbling. "No."
The whispers grew louder, overlapping, distorting.
[Return. Return. Return.]
The lamppost buzzed violently, the bulb inside straining against the surge of energy. The shadow pressed closer to the edge of the light, its form warping, stretching, as if trying to force itself through an invisible membrane.
She nearly tripped over the curb, trying to back away.
"Stay away from me!"
The whispers stopped.
The shadow froze.
Then, slowly, it lifted one elongated arm and pointed behind her.
She turned.
A second shadow stood at the opposite end of the street.
Then a third.
Then a fourth.
All identical. All watching.
Her pulse roared in her ears.
They were surrounding her.
She backed into the center of the street, spinning in place, trying to keep all of them in sight. The lamppost flickered again, dimming with each pulse.
The shadows stepped closer.
One step.
Two.
Three.
She felt the world tighten around her, like a net drawing closed.
Then—
A hand grabbed her wrist.
She gasped, jerking away — but the grip was firm, warm, human.
"Come with me," a voice whispered urgently.
She turned.
Eli stood beside her, breathless, eyes wide with panic.
"You shouldn't be here," she said, voice shaking.
"I know," he replied. "But if you stay, they'll—"
The lamppost went out.
Darkness swallowed the street.
The shadows surged forward.
Eli pulled her into a run.
They sprinted between the houses, cutting through a narrow alleyway as the whispers rose behind them, louder, angrier, overlapping in a cacophony of static and broken syllables.
She didn't dare look back.
Eli dragged her around a corner, down another street, across a yard, through a gap in a fence. The world blurred around her, houses melting into streaks of color as adrenaline pushed her forward.
Finally, they ducked behind an abandoned shed at the edge of a wooded lot. Eli pressed her against the wall, one hand over her mouth, the other gripping her shoulder.
"Don't move," he whispered.
She didn't.
The whispers passed by the shed — a wave of static sweeping through the night. The shadows moved like smoke, drifting across the yard, searching.
She held her breath until her lungs screamed.
Minutes passed.
Finally, the whispers faded.
The shadows dissolved.
The world fell silent again.
Eli lowered his hand.
She exhaled shakily. "What were those things?"
He didn't answer.
He looked at her with an expression she had never seen on him before.
Fear.
"They weren't supposed to manifest yet," he said quietly. "You've accelerated the collapse."
She swallowed. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said, voice trembling, "that the cycle is breaking faster than the system can repair it."
"And that's bad?"
He laughed — a hollow, humorless sound. "It's catastrophic."
She stared at him. "Eli… what happens if the cycle breaks completely?"
He hesitated.
Then he whispered, "Everything ends."
Before she could respond, a sharp crack split the air — like a branch snapping, or a bone.
Eli's eyes widened.
"That's not good," he breathed.
The shed wall behind her rippled.
Not the wood.
Reality itself.
A thin, jagged line split the air, glowing faintly — like a crack in glass.
She stepped back, heart pounding.
"What is that?"
Eli grabbed her arm.
"The beginning," he said.
The crack widened.
Something moved inside it.
Something reaching through—