The blood was still warm.
Kye knelt beside the body, hand trembling as he reached out, not to comfort, not to confirm, but to understand. The boy's face was twisted in pain, but his eyes were blank, like the light had left the world with him. That face, he recognized now. A senior. Tall. Always joking during assemblies. He couldn't remember his name.
He wiped his hand against his hoodie. Smearing blood on himself made it feel real, like owning it. But it wasn't his. Not yet.
Someone whispered again.
This time, he didn't turn.
"You're getting better," it said, coy and distant, like a cat trailing a mouse. "One more kill and maybe they'll start fearing you."
Kye's heart pounded, not out of fear anymore, out of refusal. He wasn't a killer. He had defended himself. He hadn't wanted to, but the boy had lunged. It was self-defense. Right?
He stood, breath shaky, then paused.
Crunch.
He heard it. Leaves. A twig. Slowly crushed underfoot.
Not his.
They were closing in.
___
He didn't think, he bolted. Not through the clear paths but deeper into the underbrush. Brambles clawed at his legs. The forest itself felt like it wanted him to stay, like it was alive, whispering through the trees.
The moment he stopped running, he saw it: a small hill with a crooked tree on top. Odd. It stood on bare earth, no grass, as if nothing dared grow near it.
A wooden sign hung crooked from one branch.
"Confess Here."
Below it, a stump. Just one. And a mirror embedded into the bark, smooth as glass, glinting faintly.
His legs moved before his brain gave permission. He was just tired enough to do something stupid.
When he sat on the stump, the world silenced.
Even the forest hushed.
Then, the mirror rippled.
Not his reflection. Not quite.
It was him, but older. Paler. Drenched in blood, teeth too sharp, eyes hollow like a monster pretending to be a boy.
"You should stop pretending," the reflection said with a smile that hurt to look at. "You enjoyed it."
Kye stood to run, but he couldn't move.
The forest had vanished.
No wind. No sound. No smells.
Only darkness and the mirror.
"I didn't enjoy it," he said.
The reflection tilted its head. "Then why do you feel stronger?"
He wanted to scream, but then the mirror shattered, and he fell forward, into light.
___
He woke up, still in the forest.
But something was wrong.
The trees… no longer swayed. They watched.
He could feel them leaning toward him, as if curious. Hungry.
Behind him, footsteps again. He turned sharply, no one.
But this time, instead of running, he called out.
"Stop following me!"
And that's when he saw it.
Not a person.
Not a hunter.
A puppet.
It hung from the trees like a broken marionette, arms limp, body swaying without wind. Its face was stitched crudely, a ragged smile carved in red thread. Empty button eyes stared at him.
Then it jerked.
Like a bug shocked to life.
It dropped from the tree and landed on all fours.
Kye stumbled back.
It scuttled, fast, wrong. Like its limbs bent the wrong way.
He ran.
It chased.
He could hear it panting, the rhythm of its claws digging into bark and soil.
This time, it didn't speak.
It just screamed.
___
He reached a slope and dove.
Tumbled hard. Rolled through dirt and hit something metal.
A sign.
When he opened his eyes, he was outside the camp admin building.
Bloodied. Mud-covered. Breathing like a dog.
And alive.
___
He limped to the building. The door was open. Faint light flickered inside. He paused, he'd come full circle.
But he wasn't the same anymore.
Something had shifted. He wasn't just surviving now.
He was changing.
He entered.
The lights flickered. There were files, keys, and broken coffee mugs.
And sitting at the desk, was her.
Miss Nare. His teacher. Calm, smiling.
"Kye," she said warmly, like this was just a class. "You're late."
His mouth opened.
Then, everything went black.
The darkness didn't last.
It peeled back slowly, like wet gauze, revealing dim fluorescents above. Buzzing. Blinking.
Kye's eyes fluttered open.
He was strapped to a chair.
No. Not straps, hands.
Hands.
Dozens of them.
Thin, pale, wrinkled fingers clutched his arms, shoulders, ankles, even his face, holding him gently, like he might break. Or like they were savoring him.
He couldn't scream. His mouth was sealed. Not gagged, stitched shut.
Miss Nare stood in front of him, still smiling. But her eyes were black voids, rippling slightly like the surface of an oil slick.
"You're adapting faster than I expected," she said softly, voice layered, hers and something beneath it. A voice that echoed like a deep sea creature learning to mimic human speech. "But there's still too much doubt in you."
He struggled against the hands.
She waved her finger slowly, like scolding a child. The hands gripped harder. One slid up his jaw, thumb pressing against his cheekbone.
"You don't get to scream until you mean it," she whispered.
Then her smile widened into something inhuman.
And her hand, passed through his chest.
No blood. No wound.
But pain bloomed inside his skull like a firecracker.
Memories exploded.
Him, younger, crying behind the school shed.
His father slamming a door hard enough to rattle windows.
A paper. A test. A red "28%" scrawled in ink.
Laughter. Not his.
Miss Nare's voice, again:
"Tell me who you are."
He gasped. The stitches unraveled from his mouth like smoke.
And he screamed.
But it wasn't a sound.
It was a word.
He didn't know what he said. But it echoed, through the room, through the forest, through himself.
The hands recoiled as if burned.
Miss Nare staggered, blinking like something had gone wrong.
The chair snapped backward with him still in it, and shattered on impact.
He hit the floor and rolled, gasping, coughing. Real light. Real air.
No hands. No Miss Nare.
Just… a classroom?
He blinked. Desks. Chalkboard. Posters on the wall. A cracked window.
Was he out?
He stood, legs trembling.
No. This wasn't school.
There were no doors.
Only windows. Covered in wire mesh. The posters were all the same:
"It's Not Real If You Don't Admit It."
He staggered forward. His hands were shaking badly. His reflection in the cracked glass wasn't his, it was that thing again. Pale. Empty-eyed. Smiling.
"Kye?" someone whispered.
He spun.
Luca stood at the back of the room.
Alive.
Bloodied, but breathing.
Kye stared, breath caught in his throat.
"Luca...?"
Luca's expression twisted.
"I found you," he whispered. "Do you know what they made me do?"
Kye backed up. "What?"
"They told me you betrayed us," Luca said, taking a step forward, dragging a blood-soaked bat behind him. "Said you were the reason the dream won't end. That if we kill you"
He stopped.
Then dropped the bat.
"…but they lie."
A beat passed. Neither of them moved.
Then, the room shifted.
The walls turned dark. Liquid dripped from the ceiling. The floor breathed.
And that whisper returned.
"Tell me who you are."
Kye met Luca's eyes.
And this time, he answered.
"I'm the one who's going to break this."
He grabbed the bat from the ground.
And smashed the window.