Elias Tran had always felt the world moving just a little too fast. Maybe it was the way people rushed down the city's cracked sidewalks, eyes glued to glowing screens, never looking up. Or maybe it was just him—forever out of step, half-lost in thoughts that didn't fit anywhere.
He adjusted his backpack as he stepped out of the bookstore, the warm, papery air replaced by the sticky heat of the city night. His shift had run late again. Elias didn't mind. The silence between rows of books was the only place that felt truly safe.
Someone jogged past him, headphones blasting tinny music. Elias watched the shadows stretch along the street, trailing behind streetlamps. He took the long way home, drawn toward the old park even as his mother's voice echoed in his head, telling him not to wander after dark.
He couldn't help himself. Some part of him always felt pulled—like there was something waiting, just out of sight.
Tonight, the fountain sat still as glass, silvered in the thin moonlight. He dropped his bag on the stone edge and sat, letting the hum of the city fade to a low whisper.
He traced his fingers over a crack in the fountain's rim. "You have to listen for what's behind the world, Eli," his grandfather used to say, voice warm with secrets. "Most people only see what's in front of them."
Elias closed his eyes, breathing in slow, searching for the thread of peace those old words used to bring. A faint chill passed over him—more memory than wind. He almost heard his grandfather's voice, speaking in that strange dialect Elias never fully understood.
He opened his eyes and found himself staring at a stranger across the park—a boy about his age, mop of dark curls, baggy hoodie, sketching quickly into a battered notebook. Elias had seen him before: the kid always hanging around the edge of things, usually at the library or lurking by the convenience store, trading smiles for loose change.
Tonight, the boy noticed Elias and flashed a crooked grin. "You look like you've seen a ghost," he called.
"Maybe I have," Elias said, surprised at his own honesty.
The boy wandered over, tucking the pencil behind his ear. "Name's Jamie. You come out here a lot, don't you?"
Elias nodded. "It's quiet here. Most of the time."
Jamie plopped down beside him, glancing at the fountain like he expected it to come alive. "You ever feel like something's watching you? Not in a creepy way—just, like, waiting?"
Elias looked at him sharply, heart pounding. "Sometimes. You too?"
Jamie nodded, eyes serious for a second before his smile returned. "City's full of secrets. You just gotta know where to look." He hesitated, then slid the notebook over. The page was filled with strange symbols, half-drawn faces, and what looked like swirling patterns of light.
"I draw what I see," Jamie said quietly. "Even if I can't explain it."
Elias stared at the patterns, a chill running through him. Some of the shapes matched dreams he'd had for years—spirals, broken lines, a door set in shadow.
A breeze rustled the leaves above, sending ripples across the fountain. For a heartbeat, Elias thought he saw his own reflection flicker, replaced by a face not quite his own—older, lined with sorrow, eyes full of stars.
He jerked back. Jamie looked at him, unafraid. "It's okay," Jamie said. "Sometimes the world just…glitches. You get used to it."
Elias wasn't sure he'd ever get used to it. But for the first time, he felt less alone.
Behind them, the city pulsed on, unaware of the moment two outsiders shared by the fountain. Neither of them knew it yet, but tonight was the start of something neither could turn back from—a ripple in the quiet that would change everything.
And far beyond the streetlights, behind the veil of reality, something else had begun to wake.