Itsuki didn't sleep. He lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, as if blinking would invite something to crawl closer.The book sat open on his desk. He didn't touch it. He didn't dare.
The morning light felt wrong — too harsh, like it was exposing everything he wanted to keep hidden.He dragged himself out of bed, ran cold water over his face, and stared at his reflection.
For a moment, he thought he saw a smudge — a black fingerprint at the base of his throat.He rubbed at it. Nothing came away. The mark was gone.
At school, he was quieter than usual.
Haruta kept poking at him like always. "You know, if you keep looking like that, I'm gonna start charging you rent for my good looks. I can't carry this whole squad on my own."
Itsuki rolled his eyes. "I'm fine."
Noa slipped into the conversation, her ponytail swishing as she tilted her head. "You sure? You look like you fought a bear and lost."
Haruta snorted. "More like he saw a ghost in his closet."He leaned in, stage-whispering. "Did the boogeyman get you, Kurobane?"
Itsuki punched him in the arm — softer this time.
Noa just smiled. She hooked her pinkie with Itsuki's for a second — a silly habit she'd had since middle school.
"You're okay. Right?" she asked. Soft. Certain.
He almost said yes. But the words stuck in his throat. So he just nodded.
In class, the hush returned. He couldn't hear the teacher. Couldn't hear the scribble of pens. Just his own heartbeat and the sound of a page turning behind him — even though nobody sat there.
He forced himself to keep his eyes forward.
When he finally glanced at his notebook, another circle stared back at him.Five dots. And this time, a single word scratched under it in his own handwriting:
"Echo."
He didn't remember writing it.
The day bled into evening. He walked home alone — Haruta stayed for practice; Noa had something with her club.Leaves skittered across the road. A dog barked somewhere in the distance.
As he unlocked the front door, he felt it:A whisper brushing his ear. Words he couldn't catch.
He turned. The street was empty.
Dinner tasted like cardboard. His mom asked if he was okay — he lied and said he was just tired.
When he got to his room, he found the book still on the desk — exactly where he'd left it.This time, the page was blank.
He almost felt relief. Almost.
Then his phone buzzed — a text from an unknown number:
"We're closer than you think."
His chest tightened. He looked at the book again.
It was open to the last page. Something new was scribbled there, messy this time — like someone had written it with a shaking hand.
"The silence remembers."
He didn't understand. He didn't want to.
But he couldn't look away.
To be continued...