Chapter Two
Carter woke to the glow of red digits.
4:04 a.m.
The numbers bled against the dark like an open wound. His eyes burned, but there was no sleep left in him—only the echo of pounding hooves, steel on steel, and screams that ended too fast. He dragged a hand down his face.
"Perfect. Demon hour."
He rolled onto his side, pulling the blanket over his head. Heat smothered him. Every time his lids sank, the battlefield waited. Torn bodies. Shapes that shouldn't exist.
With a dry throat, he fumbled for the lamp. Warm yellow light spilled across the room, pretending to be safety.
Hours bled away like that—half-sitting, half-sinking—until the digits shifted again.
7:30.
No rest. Just empty time.
In the bathroom mirror, a stranger stared back. Pale skin. Dark smudges under hollow eyes. Lips cracked from clenching too hard.
Zombie chic. All I need's a grave to crawl out of.
---
Downstairs, the house was silent. His mom's handwriting waited on a note: Left some cereal. Be good.
He crushed it in his fist, tossed it aside, and ate in silence. Every tick of the kitchen clock dug deeper, like teeth gnawing at his skull.
---
School was worse.
Adam slid into the seat beside him with a grin too wide for the morning. "Bro, you look like you just clawed your way out of a crypt. Which is awesome, by the way. Halloween came early."
"Appreciate it. I'll put that on my résumé."
Alex leaned forward, frowning. "No, seriously. You don't look okay."
"Didn't sleep." Carter kept it flat, controlled.
"Pfft, called it," Adam said. "Three a.m. raid boss, huh? Bet you wiped."
Carter almost smiled. Almost.
---
By second period, his head sagged against his desk. The teacher's voice droned on about equations, balance—
And balance split open.
For a heartbeat, the classroom folded wrong. Shadows bent the wrong way across the floor. A girl's elbow bent backward when she reached for her pencil. The teacher's mouth moved, but his eyes bled red down his cheeks.
Then it was gone.
Classroom. Normal. Chalk squeaking on the board.
Carter's hand jerked.
"Carter!"
He flinched upright, heart hammering. The teacher's glare cut sharp. "If my class is that dull, perhaps you'd prefer the hallway?"
Laughter rippled through the room. Heat crawled up his neck. He mumbled an apology, eyes locked on the board as the numbers swam and bled.
---
At lunch, Adam and Alex argued about basketball practice and gossip.
"Coach is gonna kill me if I miss another free throw," Adam said, balancing a fry on his nose.
"Maybe if you practiced instead of goofing around," Alex muttered, shooting Carter another worried look. "You've barely touched your food. You sure you're okay?"
The truth clawed at him: Every time I blink, it's still there. Faces without faces. Screams that don't stop.
Instead, he shrugged. "Didn't sleep. That's all."
Adam grinned. "See? I told you. Gamer brain rot."
Alex's frown deepened, but he didn't push.
---
The day dragged to the final bell. Adam vanished to basketball, Alex disappeared with his girlfriend, and Carter walked home alone.
The neighborhood blurred past in gold light and quiet houses—until something snagged at the corner of his eye.
A ripple.
The air bent wrong. Shadows stretched too long. For a heartbeat, the world shivered.
He froze, pulse pounding.
Blink. Just a crooked mailbox. Nothing else.
A brittle laugh escaped him. "Sleep deprivation. Totally normal."
But his fists were clenched tight, nails carving crescents into his palms.
---
By the time he reached home, the sky was bruised and heavy. His body begged for rest, though something deeper recoiled. What if it's waiting?
A nap. Just a nap. That's all.
Dreams came soft and empty—missing the bus, endless hallways. Normal.
When he woke, the digits glowed again.
6:06 p.m.
His stomach twisted. Coincidence. It had to be.
"See?" he whispered to the empty room. "Just a dream. Nothing more."
He drowned himself in textbooks, games, dinner with his parents—mundane lifelines in a world that felt too fragile.
But when he finally crawled into bed, Carter couldn't shake it.
The silence was too deep.
The dark behind his eyelids too heavy.
It wasn't sleep waiting for him.
It was the door.
And this time, it was already open.
---