Airana did not sleep.
Every time she closed her eyes, the hum returned low, patient, waiting. She lay on her bed fully dressed, lights on, phone clutched in her hand like a lifeline. The neon line on her ceiling had faded, but she could still feel where it had been, the way you feel a bruise long after it disappears.
She checked the time.
4:11 AM.
Too early for morning. Too late for excuses.
Aira swung her legs off the bed and went to the bathroom. The mirror greeted her with a pale, wide-eyed version of herself. She turned her wrist slowly, holding it under the harsh white light.
The mark responded.
The thin lines glowed faintly, rearranging themselves subtle, almost shy. Not a symbol anymore, but a pattern, like part of a map she didn't know how to read.
Aira's breath caught.
"Stop," she whispered.
The glow stopped.
Her heart skipped. "No way."
She swallowed and tried again. "Glow."
The mark pulsed once.
Aira stumbled back, hitting the sink. "You're not real," she told it. "You're just stress. Or shock. Or"
The bathroom light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the hum crept back, stronger now, vibrating through the pipes, through her bones. The mirror fogged suddenly, though the water hadn't been turned on.
Words began to appear in the mist.
STILL AWAKE.
Aira's throat closed.
"No," she said. "You don't get to talk to me like this."
Another line formed beneath it.
YOU HEARD US FIRST.
Her phone buzzed violently in her hand.
A new message.
THAT MEANS YOU CAN ANSWER.
Aira backed out of the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The fog vanished instantly. The hum softened, retreating like something amused.
She slid down against the wall, breathing hard.
"Think," she muttered. "Think."
The girl.
The warning.
Don't come back.
Airana looked at the mark again, now dim and innocent, like it
---
Morning came like a mercy she hadn't earned.
Sunlight crept through the thin curtains, washing the apartment in pale gold. The hum was gone. The neon lines were gone. The walls were just walls again chipped paint, water stains, the quiet honesty of a place that had never promised safety.
Airana sat on the edge of her bed and waited for the panic to return.
It didn't.
That scared her more.
She checked her wrist.
The mark lay dormant, a faint silver scar barely visible unless she tilted it toward the light. Innocent. Ordinary. As if it had never answered her voice in the dark.
"You're still there," she said softly.
Nothing happened.
She exhaled and laughed under her breath. "Of course. Now you pretend."
At work, the day dragged. Customers complained. Her supervisor scolded her for zoning out. Aira nodded at the right moments, smiled when expected, and kept her sleeve pulled low. Every few minutes, she felt it a subtle warmth, like a hand hovering just above her skin.
Watching.
At lunch, she searched.
Neon street at night.
City appears for one minute.
People disappear at 3:17 AM.
Nothing.
She refined the search. Added dates. Locations. Forums. Archived news sites. Obituaries.
Still nothing.
By evening, a dull certainty had settled in her chest.
The city erased itself perfectly.
Her phone buzzed at 8:43 PM.
A new message. Unknown number.
YOU'RE CALM TODAY.
Airana's fingers went cold.
She didn't type right away. She stood up, walked to the window, and looked down at the street crowded now, loud, alive. The opposite of the other city.
Then she typed:
Stop texting me.
Three dots appeared instantly.
WE CAN'T.
Her jaw tightened. Why me?
The response took longer this time. Long enough for her to hope stupidly that it wouldn't come.
BECAUSE YOU NOTICED BEFORE YOU ENTERED.
AND YOU REMEMBERED AFTER YOU LEFT.
Aira's gaze slid to her wrist.
That doesn't mean I agreed.
The mark warmed. Not painful. Not threatening.
Reassuring.
YOU WILL.
She shut off her phone.
Night arrived in layers sunset bleeding into streetlights, noise thinning into echoes. By the time she left work, the sky was ink-black, stars swallowed by haze.
Aira didn't go home.
She walked.
Past familiar blocks. Past shops she knew by heart. She stopped at the bus stand where it had first happened and stood very still, listening to the ordinary sounds of the city.
A laugh. A horn. Footsteps.
All real.
She checked the time.
3:14 AM.
Her pulse quickened.
She told herself she was only here to prove something to watch and walk away, to see the minute pass and let the city show its hand.
3:15.
The air cooled.
3:16.
The street grew quiet.
Aira closed her eyes and whispered, "If you're going to do something… do it."
The mark flared bright, sudden.
She gasped.
Neon lines began to bloom along the pavement ahead, thin and precise. The narrow street peeled open like a secret being revealed again.
Aira didn't step back this time.
From the far end of the glowing road, a familiar figure emerged the girl, eyes hollow with relief and fear all at once.
"You came back," she said.
Aira swallowed. "I didn't plan to."
The girl's gaze dropped to Aira's wrist.
Her face fell.
"Oh," she whispered. "It marked you."
Aira nodded once. "What does that mean?"
The city hummed, deeper now. Closer.
The girl took a step back, voice shaking. "It means the city isn't asking anymore."
The clock ticked over.
3:17 AM.
And somewhere in the folds of the street that shouldn't exist, something smiled because this time, Aira hadn't been pulled in.
She had returned on her own.