The bus ride into the city was crowded and loud, but Adrian preferred it that way. Noise made it easier to disappear.
He took the window seat and rested his head against the glass. The highway blurred past. Warehouses gave way to apartment complexes. Then storefronts. Then traffic.
He closed his eyes.
The dream came more frequently now.
Not every night
But enough.
He stood in the middle of an empty stretch of road that felt both familiar and wrong. The sky above him wasn't dark or bright it was strained. Like something pressing from behind it.
There was a line across the horizon.
Not a crack.
Not yet.
Just a seam.
And on the other side of it
He never saw clearly.
But he felt presence.
Not hostile.
Not kind.
Aware.
He opened his eyes before the dream could settle deeper.
The bus jerked to a stop.
He exhaled.
School passed without incident.
He kept his head down. Turned in assignments. Ignored the cluster of boys who liked to test their volume in hallways. Nodded at teachers. Ate lunch alone under the bleachers.
He wasn't bullied.
He wasn't popular.
He existed in the narrow lane between.
Around noon, as he reached into his locker, a sharp sting pulsed across his shoulder blade.
He inhaled sharply.
It lasted only a second.
Gone as quickly as it came.
He rolled his shoulder carefully.
No pain.
Just a memory of heat.
He glanced around.
No one was looking at him.
Still
He had the strange sensation that something had just taken notice.
That evening, Elena was already home when he walked through the front door.
She stood at the stove, stirring something that smelled vaguely like garlic and regret.
"You're late," she said without turning.
"Bus."
She nodded. "Mom picked up another shift."
Of course she did.
Adrian dropped his backpack near the couch and headed toward the hallway. "You ever think about him?" he asked casually.
The spoon stopped moving.
"Who?"
He leaned against the wall. "Dad."
Elena resumed stirring.
"Not really."
"Why?"
"Because it doesn't change anything."
"He said he'd come back."
She turned then, slowly. "You don't know that."
"Mom told me."
"She tells you the softer version."
Something tightened in his chest. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Elena lowered the heat on the stove. "It means he left. That's what matters."
"He promised."
"He made a lot of promises."
Her voice wasn't angry.
It was tired.
That was worse.
Adrian looked away first.
Later that night, when the house had settled into its usual creaks and distant highway hum, he lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Eighteen.
His father had said he would be back before eighteen.
That was the only specific thing his mother had ever repeated word for word.
Before he turns eighteen.
Adrian rolled onto his side.His shoulder itched again.
He reached back and pressed his palm against the mark.
For a split second—He felt something shift. Not under his skin. Around him. Like air pulling inward.
The overhead light flickered.
Once.
He froze.
The bulb steadied.
Silence returned.
His heart pounded too loud in his ears.
He lay there, unmoving, listening to the house breathe. After a long moment, he forced himself to relax.
Old wiring, he told himself.
Old house.
Old nerves.
He closed his eyes.
Outside, somewhere beyond the highway and the empty fields, a stray dog began to howl.
And did not stop for a very long time.