The diner's flickering lights buzzed like angry wasps caught in glass.
Detective Ruiz dragged her knife slowly across the counter, the screeching sound making Lena's teeth hurt.
Anya turned, holding a coffee pot. "Oh! Didn't see you come in, Detective. Your usual booth?"
Ruiz's neck cracked as she tilted her head. A thick drop of black liquid slipped from her—like something else was speaking through her. "I'm here for her."
She pointed straight at Lena.
Anya blinked, confused. "Uh… who?"
Lena's chest tightened. She can't see me.
The book's warning flashed in her mind: The Keeper is never seen unless she chooses to be.
Ruiz's mouth stretched into a too-wide smile. "Silly me. Must be the night shift messing with my brain." She tapped her head with the knife. "But I can smell her. Ink and fear."
Anya gave an uneasy laugh, backing toward the kitchen. "I'll go get your coffee."
Lena gripped the book tightly. It throbbed in her hands—like it had a heartbeat of its own. The page still displayed two horrible choices:
Anya Kovac. Tonight. Throat slit in diner restroom.
Lena Carter. Tonight. Cause of death: mercy.
A test.
Feed the hunger, or be the meal.
Ruiz slid into the booth across from her. Her eyes weren't just black—they were hollow, swirling with ink that streamed down her cheeks like ink-stained tears.
"Hello, Keeper," she purred. The voice wasn't Ruiz anymore. It was Her. The Witness. "Did you miss me?"
Lena's reflection in the window behind her whispered: Run.
---
THE HUNT BEGINS
Lena sprinted for the restroom. The door slammed shut behind her, the lock screeching.
The mirrors were old and warped. Her reflections moved on their own—some scratching at the glass, others grinning silently. The biggest mirror over the sink showed the truth:
Her shadow wasn't hers anymore.
It was his—the Last Witness. Tall. Hollow. Mouth stitched shut with her black hair.
The book dropped open in her hands. Ink spilled across the page, forming a crude map of the diner. A red X marked the storage closet.
Rule #4: Names have power. Steal one.
A knock hit the door.
Ruiz's voice came, singsong: "Little Keeper, let me in…"
The lock twisted on its own. Metal groaned.
Lena dove for the closet. Darkness swallowed her.
---
THE WHISPERING WALLS
She crouched among cans of tomatoes and bleach. The reek of chemicals burned her throat.
Then a whisper came—not from the book. From the wall.
"Alistair didn't die."
Lena froze. Her grandfather's name hit like a punch to the chest.
The voice slid through the walls:
"He sent Ruiz. He's been feeding the book names for decades. Yours was next."
The door burst open.
Ruiz stood in the light, her limbs stretching too far, bones cracking. "There you are."
Lena grabbed a can of lighter fluid.
The book flipped to a new page with a hiss:
FIRE PURIFIES. BUT IT ALSO REMEMBERS.
She sprayed.
Ruiz lunged.
Lena lit a match.
---
THE FIRE AND THE FURY
Flames exploded. Ruiz let out a scream that sounded like burning pages and tearing books.
Her skin peeled away, revealing twisted lines of text—sentences Lena didn't understand, names that squirmed like worms beneath her flesh.
The fire alarm howled. Anya was screaming somewhere behind her.
Lena ran.
Past the burning detective.
Past the mirrors—her reflections now cheering.
Out into the night where shadows swallowed her whole.
---
THE FIRST STOLEN NAME
The subway station was empty. Lena hid behind a broken ticket machine, lungs burning.
The book quivered in her hands. New words appeared:
You passed the first test. Reward: a name.
Three names faded into view:
1. Anya Kovac (Waitress. Forgettable. Safe.)
2. Detective E. Ruiz (Strong. Dangerous. Hunted.)
3. Alistair Voss (Liar. Traitor. Grandfather.)
A drop of ink fell from Lena's eye. It landed on Ruiz's name.
The letters shifted.
Elena Ruiz.
Lena's skin prickled. "No."
The book replied:
Every name you save replaces one of yours.
A train screeched in. Doors opened.
Inside, every passenger looked the same—Ruiz's burnt face, hollow eyes. They all stared at Lena.
One spoke for all of them:
"You can't hide behind dead names forever, Keeper."
The doors began to close.
Lena jumped on board.
---
THE LAST WITNESS'S GIFT
The train car looked empty.
But it wasn't.
A figure waited at the far end.
Tall. Thin. Mouth sewn with black thread.
The real Last Witness.
It held out its hand. A needle rested in its palm.
"For when you're ready to stitch your own lips shut," it whispered. "Like the monk. Like me. Like all the Keepers who finally understood."
Lena reached—
The lights went out.
When they flicked back on, the Witness stood inches from her. Its breath reeked of old books and earth.
"He's waiting for you at the library," it rasped. "The man who calls himself your grandfather."
The train jolted. She stumbled.
The Witness vanished.
In its place: the open book.
A new message bled through:
Midnight. The Rare Texts Room. Come alone.
P.S. Bring the knife.
Outside the window, the tunnel walls began to ripple—faces pressed against the stone, all of them Lena's. All of them screaming.
---