Chapter 1 — The City That Breathes
The city never slept.
It only shifted — like something turning over in a restless dream.
Avery stood on the overpass, watching the lights below pulse in a rhythm that didn't belong to traffic.
Cars moved, yes, but the glow beneath them flickered as if the asphalt itself had veins.
They weren't imagining it.
Not anymore.
Ever since Lockridge, the world had grown… porous. The air carried a thickness that wasn't humidity. Dust gathered in places it shouldn't—under streetlamps, in the creases of crosswalks, inside the folds of strangers' clothes.
And sometimes—only sometimes—it moved on its own.
A soft vibration buzzed in their ear.
Jordan:
You okay? You're drifting again.
Avery didn't answer immediately.
Across the street, a row of old apartment windows lit up in sync, one by one, like a spine cracking into place.
The pattern wasn't random.
Nothing had been random for months.
"I'm here," Avery whispered.
But the city didn't believe them.
A ripple passed through the pavement—small, like a breath the ground was trying to hide.
Avery felt it travel up their legs, settle in their ribs.
Jordan arrived beside them, breathless.
He'd changed since Lockridge.
Not visibly—no new scars, no supernatural markings.
But his reflection lagged sometimes, and Avery had caught him speaking too softly, as if afraid the city might overhear.
"What did you see?" he asked.
Avery pointed at the apartment windows.
Even now, the lights blinked faintly, almost shy.
Jordan exhaled. "That makes seven buildings this week."
Eight, actually.
But Avery didn't correct him.
A bus rolled past them, sighing like a tired beast.
Its windows fogged from the inside, even though no passengers were breathing there.
Jordan shivered.
"You think it's getting worse?"
Avery didn't know.
The dust at their feet swirled gently, forming half-shapes that vanished when they blinked.
Somewhere deep in the city, a siren wailed—longer than it should have, rising and falling like a voice trying to speak.
Avery swallowed.
"No," they said.
But the truth pressed against their teeth:
Yes.
The city was waking up.
And it had learned how to remember.