The forest is waiting for me.
I don't know how I got here.
One moment, I'm in my bed, my breath still uneven from the weight of the past few days. The next, I'm standing barefoot in the middle of that place—the one I've never seen but somehow know.
The air is thick, cloaked in a dense fog that presses against my skin like something alive. The ground shifts beneath me, pulsing, as though the earth itself is breathing. The scent of damp moss and something decayed lingers in the air.
The silver box is there again. Only this time, it's open.
I step closer. The whispers are louder tonight, curling around me like invisible hands, tugging me forward. The voices murmur in a language I don't recognize, but somehow, the meaning slips into my mind.
"The blood of the Fae….The price of the truth…."
I swallow hard, my heart slamming against my ribs.
The pendant inside the box pulses like a heartbeat, the silver crescent moon glowing softly. It's calling to me.
I reach for it, fingers trembling.
A shadow moves at the edge of the trees.
I freeze. My breath catches in my throat.
Something is there. Watching. Waiting.
I can't see its face, only the outline of a figure standing in the mist. A presence that feels familiar, yet entirely unknown.
A chill snakes down my spine.
Fast.
Too fast.
It's suddenly closer, emerging from the darkness—but before I can see who or what it is, something yanks me backward.
The ground gives out beneath me. I'm falling.
Falling—-
Falling—-
*******
Something wakes me.
Not the sound of my alarm.
Not the hum of the heater kicking on.
But something else.
Something…..wrong.
I don't jolt awake in a panic—-I just open my eyes. Slowly.
The air in my room feels thick, charged—like the silence right before a storm. My heart beats steady, but there's a weight in my chest, a pressure I can't explain.
I sit up.
The feeling doesn't go away.
I glance towards the window, expecting to see rain streaking down the glass. But outside, the world is still, untouched. Not even the trees are moving.
I exhale, rubbing my temples. It's just my imagination. Leftover tension from last night.
I throw off the blankets and swing my legs over the bed. But the second my feet hit the floor—
I freeze.
The floor is warm.
Like someone was just standing there.
My breath catches, and for a long second, I don't move.
It's fall. The hardwood is always cold. Always.
I glance around the room. Everything looks normal. But it doesn't feel normal.
My glaze flicks to my nightstand.
And my stomach drops.
My phone.
I always put it on the charger before bed. But now—it's face down on the opposite side of the nightstand.
I blink, my brain scrambling for an explanation.
Did I knock it over in my sleep?
I reach for it, but the second my fingers touch the screen, a violent shiver rips through me—-like the air itself just turned colder.
I yank my hand back. My pulse pounds in my ears.
I don't understand what's happening.
I inhale slowly, gripping the edge of the nightstand like an anchor. Get a grip. Maybe I was half-asleep and moved it without thinking.
Yeah. That has to be it.
I grab my phone—ignoring the way my skin prickles—and check the time.
3:47 a.m.
No.
That can't be right.
The sky outside is too bright for 3 a.m. The sun is already rising.
I check the time again. The numbers haven't changed.
My chest tightens.
Why isn't time moving?
I suck in a breath and stand too fast, my vision swimming.
I need to wake up. Shake this off.
I make my way to the bathroom, the cold tile grounding me. I splash water on my face, gripping the edges of the sink until my knuckles turn white.
When I finally lift my head and meet my own reflection—
There's someone standing behind me.
A dark silhouette, just barely out of focus.
My breath locks in my throat.
I spin—
Nothing.
The bathroom is empty.
I whip back to the mirror, my pulse hammering so hard it makes me lightheaded.
But now—-
Now it's just me.
I stare at my reflection, chest rising and falling too fast. My damp hair sticks to my temples. My sweater hangs loosely on my frame, too big, swallowing me whole.
My lips part, a small, shaky breath escaping.
Was it real?
I force myself to blink. To breathe.
When I look again, everything is normal.
But I know what I saw.
And even worse—-
I know I wasn't alone.
The feeling doesn't leave.
Even as I step out of the bathroom, even as I force myself through the motions of getting dressed, it lingers.
Like the air itself is watching me.
I shove my arms into a green sweater, the fabric swallowing me whole, but it does nothing to shake the chill clinging to my skin. My body still remembers what it feels like—the warmth on the floor, the weight in the mirror.
But it wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
I grab my phone and check the time again. 3:47 a.m. The numbers haven't changed since I last checked.
My stomach tightens.
I lock the screen. Unlock it again.
3:47 a.m.
A slow prickle crawls up my spine. I stare at the screen, my mind trying to rationalize what I'm seeing.
It's frozen. It has to be frozen.
I press the power button, restarting it.
When the screen flickers back to life, the time jumps forward.
8:02 a.m.
I suck in a sharp breath.
How did I lose that much time!?
My heart pounds against my ribs. No. No, I was just in the bathroom. Just getting dressed. It hasn't been 5 hours.
That's not possible.
I blink down at the phone, waiting for the time to stutter again, to prove I'm imagining things. But now it moves normally, the seconds ticking forward without issue.
It was probably just a glitch.
That's what I tell myself.
That's what I need to believe.
I grab my backpack, throw it over my shoulder, and head downstairs.
Mom is already in the kitchen when I get there, making eggs, bacon and biscuits. The smell should be comforting. It isn't.
She looks up when I enter, smiling. But there's something too quick in the way her eyes flick over me, like she's checking for something.
Like she already knows.
"Good morning, Monkey," she says, too casual.
I swallow the unease creeping up my throat and drop into my usual seat at the counter. "Morning."
She slides a plate in front of me. "You okay?"
The words lodge in my chest.
I should just say yes. Shrug it off. Pretend nothing happened.
But last night. The mirror. The lost time.
It presses against the inside of my skull, demanding to be acknowledged.
I clear my throat, forcing my voice to sound normal. "Did you….hear anything last night?"
Mom freezes. Just for a fraction of a second.
But I see it.
She recovers fast, turning back to the stove. "Like what?"
I hesitate. I don't even know what I'm asking.
Footsteps? A voice? My own reflection standing wrong behind me?
Instead, I shake my head. "Never mind."
But Mom doesn't let it go.
She turns, drying her hands on a dish towel, her expression carefully neutral. "Nightmares again?"
My stomach knots.
I don't want to lie. But I also don't want to admit the truth when I don't even know what the truth is.
"Something like that," I mutter, picking at my pancake.
Mom exhales, a quiet thing, before stepping forward and pressing a kiss to my forehead.
She lingers there, just for a second too long.
Then she pulls away.
"Eat up," she says, forcing brightness into her tone. "You don't want to be late."
I already feel late.
******
By the time I reach school, my thoughts still haven't settled.
I moved through the morning in a daze, half-listening to teachers, half-heartedly scribbling notes.
But then—
Justin.
He's leaning against my locker when I round the corner, arms crossed, watching me.
The second our eyes meet, something shifts.
The static in my head, the heaviness in my chest—it doesn't disappear, but it shuffles. Like the focus has changed.
He tilts his head, studying me the way he does when he knows something is off.
"You look like you've seen a ghost," he says.
I swallow. "I didn't."
Not exactly.
His gaze flickers over my face, like he's searching for the real answer beneath my words.
I think he finds it.
Just exhales, rolling his shoulders back like he's making a decision. "Walk with me?"
I hesitate.
It's not a question.
But it's also not a demand.
And part of me—the part that's still grasping for something solid, something real—wants to say yes.
So I do.
"Okay."