Mia brought it up over breakfast the next morning.
They were sitting at the small kitchen table, coffee steaming between them. Alex had barely touched his eggs. He kept glancing at the window, as though expecting something to move outside.
''You know what we haven't done in a while?''
She said, stirring sugar into her mug even though she rarely uses sugar.
''Seen your parents. We could drive up tonight. Have dinner. Your mom's been texting me about the garden she planted last spring. She wants to show it off.''
Alex looked up. ''Tonight?''
''Yeah. Once you finish your work, we've got nothing to do anyways. No excuses.'' She reached across the table and touched his wrist lightly. ''I think it would be good for you. Family. Home-cooked food. Fresh air that isn't cave air.''
He stared at her hand on his skin. For a second the room felt too warm, the air pressing against his temples. Then the feeling passed.
''Okay,'' he said. ''Yeah. Let's do that.''
She smiled, relieved. ''I'll text your mom. She'll be over the moon.''
The rest of the day moved slowly, like walking through shallow water.
Alex tried to focus on editing, but every few minutes his eyes drifted to the phone. The YouTube notification was gone, he'd finally deleted the video at 3 a.m., hands shaking, telling himself it was just corrupted footage. But the thumbnail image lingered in his mind: black screen, red dot, pulsing like a slow heartbeat.
Around noon, he stepped outside again. The parking lot was empty except for a single crow perched on a lamppost. It watched him. He stared back. The crow tilted its head, then opened its beak and let out a single harsh caw that sounded almost like his name.
Alex flinched.
The bird flew off.
He rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, ''You're losing it, Thorne.''
When he returned to his desk his mouse wouldn't move. He clicked the button harder. Nothing. He lifted the mouse, shook it, turned it over. The sensor light was off. Dead battery. Except he'd charged it yesterday.
He replaced the batteries. Still nothing.
He slammed the mouse down, harder than he meant to.
The screen flickered once. Then the cursor jumped across the timeline, dragging the playhead to a random frame.
On screen, frozen mid-frame, was his own face from last week's video: grinning, flashlight beam cutting through darkness. For half a second the grin looked wrong, too wide, eyes too bright.
Alex yanked the power cord from the monitor and the screen went black.
He sat there breathing hard, hands flat on the desk.
Nobody else in the office seemed to notice.
By late afternoon the dread had settled into his bones like cold water. He kept catching glimpses, a shadow in the hallway mirror that wasn't his shape, a whisper of movement behind a closed door.
Each time he turned, nothing was there. But the air felt heavier every time.
When he got home, Mia was already packing a small overnight bag.
''Your mom says she's making roast chicken and those potatoes you like,'' she said, smiling. ''Your dad's been asking about the channel. He wants to know if you've found any treasure yet.''
Alex forced a laugh. But it came out thin.
''He'll be disappointed. Mostly dirt and bats.''
Mia paused, looking at him.
''You sure you're up for this? We can cancel. Say you're sick.''
He shook his head. ''No. I want to go. I need… normal.''
She studied him for a moment, then nodded.
''Okay. Normal it is.''
The drive to his parents' house took just under an hour. The highway was quiet. Mia played soft music.
Alex kept one hand on the wheel, the other resting on her knee. Every so often the radio would cut to static for a heartbeat, then come back clear. Mia didn't comment. He pretended not to notice.
His parents' house smelled like rosemary and garlic the moment they stepped inside.
His mom hugged him tight, then Mia. His dad clapped him on the shoulder and said, ''Look at you, still in one piece. Thought that cave might keep you.''
Dinner was warm, loud, familiar.
They sat around the old oak table. Candles flickered in the center. Roast chicken, mashed potatoes, green beans, gravy. His mom kept refilling plates. His dad told stories about the time he tried to fix the roof and nearly fell through. Mia laughed. Alex tried to laugh with her.
But the whispers were louder tonight.
Not words. Just breath. Layered. Patient. Coming from inside his skull like someone standing very close behind him.
He kept his hands under the table, fingers locked together so tightly the knuckles turned white.
His mom leaned forward.
''You're awfully quiet tonight, sweetheart. Everything okay?''
''Yeah,'' he said. ''Just tired.''
His dad chuckled. ''Tired? You're the one who goes crawling through holes in the ground for fun. Thought you'd be bouncing off the walls telling us about your latest adventure.''
Mia squeezed his knee under the table.
Alex forced a smile. ''Nothing exciting this time.''
His mom tilted her head. ''You look pale. Are you sleeping?''
The question landed like a stone in still water.
The whispers spiked, sharp, sudden, like a needle behind his eye.
He felt the table tremble under his palms.
''I'm fine.'' he said. The words came out tighter than he meant.
His dad raised an eyebrow. ''You sure? You've got that look. Like when you were a kid and broke your arm but wouldn't tell us for two days.''
Something snapped.
''I'm fine!''
Alex slammed both fists on the table.
The candles snuffed out.
Every light in the room died at once.
Darkness swallowed the dining room.
His mom gasped, her hands covering her mouth. His dad said, ''What the hell-?''
For three long seconds the room was pitch black. Then the candles relit themselves. Small flames flickering back to life as though nothing had happened. The overhead light buzzed once and came on.
Everyone stared.
Alex's hands were still flat on the table. His breathing was ragged.
''I'm sorry,'' he whispered. ''I didn't mean-''
He pushed back from the table so fast the chair scraped.
He walked out the front door without another word.
Outside the night air was cold. He stood on the lawn, hands in his hair, trying to breathe.
Footsteps behind him.
Mia.
She hesitated in the doorway for a second, long enough that he noticed, but then ran to him.
''Alex?''
He turned. His face was wet. He hadn't realized he was crying.
''I'm sorry,'' he said again. ''I don't know what that was. I don't know what's happening to me.''
She stepped closer, hands hovering like she wasn't sure if touching him would make it worse.
''Talk to me,'' she said quietly. ''Please.''
He looked at her, really looked. Her eyes were wide, worried, but still full of the same gentleness she'd always had.
''Something's wrong,'' he said. His voice cracked. ''Ever since the cave. I feel… off. Like something followed me out. There are whispers. Not words. Just… breath. In my head. All the time now. I don't know what they're saying, but they're getting louder. And tonight-'' He gestured back toward the house. ''I didn't mean to do that. I didn't even know I could.''
Mia's face paled.
''Alex…''
''I'm not crazy,'' he said quickly. Too quickly. ''I'm not. But I feel like I'm losing my mind. And I'm scared. I'm really scared.''
His voice rose on the last words. His hands were shaking again.
Mia stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him before he could pull away.
''You're not crazy,'' she whispered into his shoulder. ''You're not. You're just… going through something. We'll figure it out. Together. Okay?''
He stood rigid for a second, then let himself sink into her. He buried his face against her neck and breathed her in, rosemary, shampoo, home.
She held him until his breathing slowed.
Eventually they walked back to the car. His parents watched from the porch, concerned but quiet. His mom waved once. Alex managed a weak wave back.
The drive home was silent except for the hum of the road.
When they got inside Mia didn't turn on many lights. She led him to bed, helped him out of his shirt, pulled the covers up.
He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
She lay beside him, propped on one elbow, stroking his hair slowly.
''Try to sleep,'' she said softly. ''I'm right here.''
He closed his eyes.
She stayed awake, fingers moving in gentle circles across his scalp.
In the dark, the whispers were still there, much softer now, almost content.
As if satisfied...