Elias didn't move. Couldn't move.
His back pressed against the wall, breath rattling too loudly in the frozen silence. The girl outside stood firm, a lone figure in the haze, while the cloaked thing loomed only a few paces away.
"Okay," Elias whispered, clutching his knees, "this is fine. Totally fine. Girl faces down walking ash-ghost, I stay inside like the cowardly background character I clearly am. Everyone respects the genre roles, no surprises."
(Yes, I am self-aware enough to know I'm not protagonist material. Just let me die in peace with my mediocre grades.)
But then his wrist flared — not a tingle, not a sting, but white-hot fire crawling under his skin. He hissed and doubled over. The girl turned her head up toward him as if she'd felt it too.
Her lips moved.
"Come."
Elias's jaw dropped. "Come? Come? As in, 'walk outside into fog-things-ville where ash-Gandalf is waiting'? Brilliant idea. Just brilliant."
(Note: sarcasm is my last defense against insanity. If I stop being sarcastic, please assume I've died.)
The pain in his wrist spiked. Elias yelped, hopping on the spot like someone trying to dance away a bee sting. Finally, with a string of curses and the grace of a man marching to his own execution, he staggered downstairs and opened the door.
The fog surged in immediately, swallowing him.
"Bad idea. Very bad idea," Elias muttered, hugging himself as he stepped outside. "This is how people die in horror movies. And I'm not even good-looking enough to last until the sequel."
(That's the real tragedy of my life: I wouldn't even be the comic relief character. Just the corpse they find in act one.)
The girl turned when he approached, her face clear now in the pale glow. Pale hair loosely tied back, storm-gray eyes that seemed to pierce right through him. She wore a coat too big for her frame, sleeves brushing her hands. The image should have been intimidating, but instead it was… strangely endearing.
"You have the mark," she said calmly, as if announcing the weather.
Elias lifted his glowing wrist like a criminal caught red-handed. "Yes, I have the mark. Thanks for noticing. Want to explain why my arm looks like it's trying to turn into a nightlight?"
She blinked once, then answered, "Selene."
"Excuse me?"
"My name. Selene."
Elias stared. "That's—great. Wonderful. Nice to meet you, Selene. But unless your last name is Instruction Manual, that doesn't exactly answer my question about nightmare hour fog monsters."
A flicker passed across her lips — the ghost of a smile.
Elias narrowed his eyes. "Wait. Are you laughing at me?"
Her shoulders shook faintly. "Pamphlet," she murmured.
He blinked. "Pamphlet?"
"You said… brochure. A pamphlet for the fog."
Elias groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I was joking. It's called sarcasm. You're not supposed to actually like it."
(Deep note: sarcasm is only funny when everyone's too busy being terrified to question whether the joke makes sense. Otherwise, it's just sad coping.)
The cloaked figure shifted. Shadows pooled at its feet, slithering toward them.
Elias flailed backward instantly. "Oh god. Oh god. This is it. First entry in my obituary: 'Boy died of fright before monster even touched him.' Honestly? Fitting."
(Imagine explaining that in the afterlife. 'Cause of death?' — 'Panic.' — 'Next!')
Selene stepped forward, calm as ever, raising her wrist. The mark on her skin flared bright white, cutting the fog like a blade. The shadows hissed, recoiling. The cloaked figure tilted its head — then slipped back into the mist, vanishing.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
Selene lowered her arm. Her eyes found his, steady. "You weren't supposed to come outside tonight."
Elias gawked at her. "You called me! You literally mouthed the word 'come' like some fog-siren in a bad romance novel! Don't tell me I wasn't supposed to come!"
This time, she smiled. Not wide, not mocking, but soft. Almost cute.
Elias froze. That smile, against the fog and shadows, hit him harder than the monster had.
(Note to self: if I die tonight, please delete my browser history. Also, please don't let my last coherent thought be 'she's kinda cute.')
"I wanted to see if you'd listen," Selene said.
"You… you dragged me outside as a test?!" Elias's voice cracked. "What kind of psychopath does that?"
Her smile lingered, faint and knowing. "You did listen."
Elias stared at her, wrist burning, lungs screaming for air, heart doing cartwheels in terror.
And then she dropped the line that shattered what was left of his composure.
"No," she said softly, her smile fading. "I mean… you weren't supposed to exist in this one."
The words hit harder than any monster could.
Elias swayed, clutching his chest. "Right. Wonderful. That's officially the worst sentence I've ever heard."
(And I once had a teacher tell me, 'You're not dumb, Elias. You're just destined for mediocrity.' So congratulations, Selene — you've set a new record.)