I didn't stop running until my lungs burned.
The city was strange — too quiet, too still. The streets twisted like they were designed to get you lost. My legs finally gave out, and I ducked into a crumbling doorway, collapsing against the wall.
For a while, all I could hear was my own breathing. No footsteps. No whispers. No Blankers.
I looked down at my arm — at the Codex. The cover was warm, almost like it had a pulse. My fingers brushed the edge, and the book opened on its own.
The page I'd changed earlier was still there:
[The stranger recovers from his wound.]
But now, under that line, there was something new.
Rule One: All changes must be balanced.
A shiver crawled up my spine. "Balanced?"
I turned the page. My hands went cold.
The next entry read:
[A young girl in Market Street collapses without cause.]
It wasn't written in my handwriting. But deep down, I knew it was my doing.
My stomach twisted. The man had lived… and someone else had paid the price.
Before I could think about it more, the air in the doorway shifted — heavy, thick. I glanced up and saw movement in the shadows.
A hunched figure stepped into the faint light. Not a Blanker — this one had a face, lined and tired, with sharp green eyes that flicked to my arm.
"So," he said, his voice raspy. "You've got the Codex now."
I pressed back against the wall. "Who are you?"
"Someone who knows exactly how fast it'll kill you," he said. "If you don't learn the rest of the rules."