Elior woke up before the sun, though not for any urgent reason. He had learned by now that early rising alone did not save him, but it gave him a sense of preparation. His bedroom in the small apartment felt quieter than usual, the faint hum of the city outside reminding him that life moved on for everyone else. He rolled over and reached for his notebook, flipping to the page titled Rules. The words stared back at him like instructions he had written for someone else.
He read through them slowly. The world ends every seven days. The green aurora appears first. I am always at the same place. Never go near that location. He traced the letters with his fingertip, memorizing the rhythm of his own handwriting, as though repeating it aloud in his mind would cement the rules further into his memory. Today, he told himself, he would follow them perfectly.
Breakfast was methodical. He made oatmeal with the same measured amounts of milk and water, stirred exactly twenty times, and drank his coffee black with no sugar. When he finished, he cleaned the dishes, stacked them exactly as they had been before, and wiped the counters in straight lines. Each movement was a small assertion of control over a world that refused to stay consistent.
Outside, the air was crisp, carrying the faint smell of rain that had passed in the night. He walked to the corner store, passing the same streetlight he had measured last week and the newspaper stand that smelled faintly of ink and dust. The cashier, a young woman with a streak of purple in her hair, smiled when she saw him.
"Morning, Elior. The usual?" she asked, already reaching for a small bag of pastries.
He nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Yes, thank you, Lila."
"You look calm today," she said, handing him the bag. "Like you actually slept."
"I did," he said. "Mostly."
Her eyebrows rose. "Mostly, huh?"
He nodded, walking out of the store and inhaling the early morning air. He wondered briefly if she noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers sometimes trembled when he held things too tightly. Probably not. Most people were too busy to notice such things, and that was exactly the way he preferred it.
He wandered through the streets with deliberate care, checking each corner as he passed. Familiar buildings appeared in the expected order, windows reflecting the pale sunlight just as he remembered. The pavement cracks matched the ones in his mental map. He even noted a discarded newspaper fluttering near a drain and made a small mental note to avoid it. The control he felt in these moments was intoxicating. For now, the world seemed predictable.
By mid-morning, he had arrived at a small park near the river. He sat on a bench, letting his gaze follow the flow of water. Joggers passed by, their rhythmic steps on the pavement grounding him further. He noticed a man sitting nearby with a dog, tossing a ball and laughing at how the animal barked and ran in circles. The scene was ordinary, and that was the point. Ordinary meant nothing could go wrong. Ordinary meant safety.
"Beautiful day," the man said to him without looking directly at him, as though speaking to anyone who would listen.
"Yes," Elior replied, nodding. "It is."
The dog barked again, snapping him out of his thoughts. He realized how easily small things could anchor him to the present. He needed more anchors, more reminders that the world was still orderly if he remained disciplined.
After the park, he returned to the apartment to write in his journal. He carefully logged each street, each person he had passed, and the approximate time. He left blank spaces for anything unexpected, anything that might arise in the coming days. When he finished, he read through it and nodded to himself. The discipline felt like armor.
Later in the afternoon, he went to the café around the corner from his apartment. The barista, a middle-aged man named Frank, greeted him as though Elior was part of the furniture.
"Same as yesterday?" Frank asked, already preparing his order.
"Yes," Elior said, watching Frank pour the coffee with practiced ease.
"You are very consistent," Frank said, smiling. "I mean it as a compliment."
Elior returned the smile. "I appreciate that. Consistency is important."
Frank laughed. "Tell me about it. My wife complains that I never change anything. Even my socks."
Elior chuckled quietly, appreciating the lightness of the conversation. He paid for his coffee and sat at a window table, watching the city move at its normal pace. People argued quietly, vendors called out their specials, a small child ran past, laughing. Everything was the same, and yet he felt the tension coiled inside him like a spring. The city did not know what he knew. It did not recognize the countdown that ticked through his veins.
He called Aria briefly that afternoon.
"Hey," he said when she answered.
"Hey, Elior. How are you?" she asked, her voice warm but casual.
"I am fine," he said, carefully neutral. "Everything is quiet here. How are you?"
"I am good. Busy at work, same as always," she said. "I was thinking about checking out that little bookstore on Maple Street this weekend. Do you want to come?"
Daniel paused. He had memorized the streets he needed to avoid, but he also wanted her nearby. He wanted a sliver of normalcy, a tether to something human. "Maybe," he said cautiously. "We will see how the week goes."
"That is fair," she said. "I will text you tomorrow?"
"Please do," he replied. They hung up, and he felt a strange relief. Talking to her lightly, without dragging emotions into it, felt like holding a flame carefully in his palm.
The next day, he visited a bookstore he had never noticed before, tucked between a flower shop and a small clothing boutique. The bell above the door jingled as he entered. A young man behind the counter looked up and smiled.
"Hello. First time here?" the man asked.
"Yes," Elior said. "Just browsing."
"Take your time. We have a lot of obscure stuff. I can help if you need recommendations," he said, returning to a pile of books.
Elior wandered between the shelves, noticing titles he had never seen. Each book seemed insignificant in the larger scheme, but they grounded him. He pulled one out randomly and leafed through it, the pages smelling faintly of paper and dust.
A woman with short hair and a green scarf approached him. "Interesting choice," she said. "That is a history of old city maps."
"Yes," he replied. "I am interested in patterns."
She smiled faintly. "Patterns can be comforting. Or dangerous, depending on how you read them."
He nodded slowly, uncertain if she meant the maps or life. "I am hoping for comforting," he said, carefully.
She gave a small laugh and walked away, leaving him with a subtle reminder that other people lived in the city and sometimes spoke truths that were not immediately threatening.
Over the next few days, Elior continued this pattern. He mapped his walks precisely, noted conversations with neighbors, vendors, and strangers. Each interaction was small and ordinary, and each made him feel tethered to reality. He spoke to a young delivery man who forgot his ID, helping him remember, and he complimented a flower seller on her arrangements. Each small exchange strengthened the illusion that the world was normal, that he could maintain control.
Despite this careful scheduling, Elior never let his guard down entirely. He avoided certain streets, avoided lingering too long near familiar corners, and kept his distance from Aria. He told himself discipline was the only safeguard, and that each small success was proof that his plan worked.
One evening, while sitting at a small park bench he had claimed as his own, he noticed a young boy playing with a paper airplane. The boy's laughter echoed through the trees. Elior smiled faintly, feeling a small warmth that had nothing to do with the rules he followed. He realized that even in a city dominated by routines and measurements, life found ways to be unpredictable, human, and comforting.
The next morning, he encountered a woman walking her dog near the river. She smiled at him as they passed. "Good morning," she said. "You are always up early. Are you a runner?"
"No," Elior replied. "I just like to watch the city wake up."
She nodded, her leash tightening in her hand. "There is something nice about that. It makes the world feel calm, even when it is not."
Elior wanted to believe that was true. He wanted to believe that discipline and observation could keep him safe. For a few days, it seemed they could. He began thinking in terms of patterns and routines rather than dread. Each day passed without incident. The streets remained ordinary. The people continued their small dramas and errands. The green aurora did not appear. The pressure did not return.
He allowed himself a brief optimism, a fragile hope that maybe awareness, planning, and restraint could protect him. He revisited the same café, the same park bench, the same bookstore, and even waved to Lila and Frank when he passed them. Each small acknowledgment reinforced the illusion of control.
By the end of the week, Elior felt a rare sense of peace. He had survived without incident. He had kept distance from Aria, avoided the dangerous streets, and observed the world as closely as he could. Each interaction had been ordinary, each day measured, each moment predictable.
Sitting on his apartment balcony, he watched the city lights flicker on as dusk fell. The hum of traffic, the occasional shout from a street below, and the smell of food from a nearby restaurant created a comforting normalcy. He took a deep breath and wrote a note in his journal:
Discipline works. Observation works. Awareness works.
For now, the loop felt manageable. For now, he believed that he had found a solution.
But as he closed the notebook and leaned back in his chair, a subtle unease tickled the edges of his consciousness. It was faint, almost imperceptible, like the memory of a word you cannot quite recall. He shook it off, telling himself it was just fatigue, the aftermath of travel, the weight of careful planning. The city seemed ordinary, alive, predictable, and human. That was enough.
Tomorrow, he would continue the routine. He would check the streets, speak to the neighbors, and maintain his schedule. Tomorrow, he would remain disciplined and safe. Tomorrow, the loop would continue, and for the first time, he would feel like he had some control.
And for now, that was all he could do.