The moment she disappeared down the stairwell, the system spoke.
"She's seen too much."
"Threat classification: Level 2."
Elias didn't move.
Not right away.
He stood in the hallway, gripping the black-covered book she'd forced into his hand. Its surface was rough. The title had been rubbed out by time—or deliberately erased.
"Immediate recommendation: eliminate witness."
"Suggested protocol: memory rupture, neural cleansing."
"Subtlety not required."
Elias clenched his jaw.
"Shut up."
"You're hesitating."
"Is it because she spoke kindly to you?"
He turned and walked.
Fast.
The system didn't follow with more words. Not yet. But he could feel it thinking. Watching. Calculating probabilities.
She knew something.
Not just about him.
About the school. About what this place really was.
He ducked out of the main building and made for the western quad—an older, less populated part of campus, where ivy-covered stone walls hid aging classrooms no one really used anymore.
He stopped under an archway, chest tight.
The book was still in his hand.
He opened it.
Inside, there was no title page. No author. Just a single line at the top of the first page:
"When the Fractures bleed, the gods remember."
He stared at it.
Beneath the line, sketches—rough diagrams of shapes that looked like the mark on his arm. Inverted circles. Twin spirals. A triangle missing one side.
Some of the pages had notes scrawled in red:
"Don't look at it when it moves."
"The 5th seal wasn't destroyed. It was swallowed."
"There was a 4th host. He burned the city."
His breath caught.
He turned the page again—
And saw a name.
His name.
Written in a different hand.
"Elias Ward."
Right next to it: "Pending retrieval."
He slammed the book shut.
"Now do you understand?"
"She is not your friend."
"She is the observer."
"Or the bait."
Elias took a step back from the wall.
The mark on his arm throbbed—violently, now. As if reacting to proximity. Or memory.
The system continued:
"Delete the variable. You cannot stabilize with her watching."
"Let me do it."
His hand moved, slowly, toward his pocket.
No.
Not this.
Not her.
He shook his head, hard.
"No."
"…Say that again?"
"I said no."
His voice echoed in the archway.
"Very well."
"Manual override denied."
"But the pattern will repeat."
"And you won't always choose mercy."
When he looked up again, the girl was there.
Just standing.
Same braid, same black jacket. But this time, there was something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
Not suspicion.
Recognition.
She stepped closer.
"I didn't write your name in that book," she said quietly.
"I know," Elias replied.
"Then you know someone's watching you."
"I figured."
She glanced down at his arm. "It's spreading, isn't it?"
Elias didn't answer.
She didn't push him.
Instead, she reached into her coat and pulled out something small—a silver coin, slightly warped, with a strange sigil pressed into one side.
"Take this," she said.
"What is it?"
"Insurance."
Elias hesitated. Then took it.
The moment it touched his hand, the mark on his arm pulsed once—then went still.
Completely still.
Even the system went quiet.
…
Elias looked up, startled.
The girl nodded. "It blocks the worst of it. Temporarily."
"Who are you?" he asked.
Her answer came without hesitation:
"Someone who burned once."
And then, like always, she turned and walked away.