I didn't sleep.
I lay on the couch with my eyes open, listening to the building breathe around me. Pipes knocked softly in the walls. Somewhere above, a neighbor coughed. Normal sounds. Comforting sounds.
The lantern sat on the floor across the room.
Still lit.
Its flame was smaller now, contained, but it hadn't gone out. It didn't flicker like fire should. It simply existed, steady and patient, as if it had all the time in the world.
I checked the clock again.
6:12 a.m.
Morning had come, whether the night approved or not.
I pushed myself upright slowly, never taking my eyes off the lantern. My body felt heavy, like I'd been awake for days instead of hours. When I stood, a dull ache ran through my arm, centered around the mark beneath my skin.
I pulled up my sleeve.
The ash-veins were still there.
They hadn't spread. They hadn't faded. They pulsed faintly, warm to the touch, like embers buried under flesh.
"Great," I muttered.
Daylight filtered in through the window, pale and weak. The city looked the same as always from up here — concrete, glass, narrow streets threading between old buildings.
And yet…
Something felt off.
Not wrong enough to point at. Just… thin. Like the world had been stretched too tight overnight.
I reached down and grabbed the lantern.
It warmed instantly, responding to the contact. Not eagerly. Not aggressively. Just enough to let me know it noticed.
"I'm putting you somewhere else," I said.
The lantern didn't argue.
I tried the closet first.
The moment I stepped inside, the bulb overhead flickered violently. The air grew cold, sharp against my skin. I hesitated, then set the lantern on the floor and stepped back out.
The light went out.
The bulb shattered.
Glass rained down at my feet, clinking softly on the tile.
The lantern reignited on its own.
I stared at it in silence.
"Fine," I whispered. "Stay."
Getting dressed felt surreal. Like I was preparing for a normal day with something watching from the corner of the room. Every time I turned my back, I could feel the lantern's presence, steady and unblinking.
I wrapped it in an old jacket and shoved it into my bag.
The flame dimmed, but it didn't go out.
Outside, the city moved differently.
People walked faster. Heads down. Conversations were short and quiet. No one lingered. Storefronts that usually opened early stayed shuttered, metal grates pulled tight even in daylight.
A man across the street noticed me staring and shook his head once, sharply, as if warning me not to ask.
I adjusted my bag and kept walking.
At the corner café, the lights were on, but the door was locked. A handwritten sign hung crookedly in the window.
CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE
I moved on.
The further I went, the more I noticed the signs everyone else pretended not to see.
Missing posters layered over older missing posters. Curfew notices stapled to poles, dates scratched out and rewritten. Patrol routes crossed out in red marker.
The city hadn't changed overnight.
I had just started paying attention.
At a small convenience store near the transit station, I tried my luck.
The bell chimed softly as I pushed the door open.
The clerk looked up.
His eyes dropped immediately to my bag.
He froze.
I felt it then — a subtle shift, like the air around me tightened. The lantern warmed through the fabric, a slow, deliberate pulse.
The clerk swallowed.
"You shouldn't bring that in here," he said quietly.
My mouth went dry. "Bring what?"
His gaze flicked to my face, then away. "You were out last night."
It wasn't a question.
"I—" I stopped. There was no good answer. "I was trying to get home."
The clerk's jaw tightened. He reached under the counter, not for a weapon, but for something else — a small metal switch.
"I can't help you," he said. "And you should leave."
"Why?"
He hesitated, just long enough to regret it.
"Because some lights," he said softly, "don't attract help."
The bell chimed again as I stepped back outside.
My hands were shaking.
I leaned against the wall and exhaled slowly, trying to steady my breathing. The lantern pressed against my back through the bag, solid and real.
People passed by without looking at me.
They knew.
They all knew.
The sirens started at noon.
Not loud. Not urgent. Just a low, droning hum that rolled across the city like a reminder. People quickened their pace. Doors closed. Windows shut.
I checked my phone.
CURFEW BEGINS AT SUNSET.DO NOT BE OUTSIDE AFTER DARK.
No explanation. No apology.
Just a rule.
The rule everyone knew.
I headed home early.
The sun was already sinking by the time I reached my building. The light felt thinner now, stretched across the streets like a fragile skin.
Inside my apartment, I set the bag down and pulled the lantern free.
The flame flared slightly, brighter than before.
It knew.
I looked at the window.
Outside, the city was preparing itself. Lights flickered on. Doors locked. The world drawing lines it wouldn't cross.
I glanced at the mark on my arm again.
The ash-veins pulsed once.
Strong.
I realized then that the rule wasn't just don't be outside at night.
It was don't be noticed.
And whatever had chosen me last night—
It had made sure I was.