It had been three days since the incident.
Three quiet, unbroken days.
No dreams.
No blood.
No whispering voices from nowhere.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Macon woke and the world stayed still.
Morning sunlight pooled across his sheets, warm and steady. The faint smell of coffee drifted from the kitchen. He sat up slowly, half-expecting the dizziness, the rush of sound, the phantom pain in his chest—but none came.
Only silence.
The kind that almost felt like mercy.
Down the hallway, Vivian's voice floated in, casual, almost cheerful:
"Breakfast's ready!"
Her tone had changed—lighter, teasing again. Normal.
He stretched, stood, and followed it.
---
The kitchen glowed with morning light. Vivian stood at the stove, hair tied in a messy bun, humming as she flipped eggs. The radio murmured low in the background.
She looked up when he entered. "Oh, look who's human again."
Macon chuckled. "I've always been human."
"Mm-hmm. Says the guy who fainted, bled everywhere, and woke up spotless like Jesus on a Tuesday."
He groaned. "You're never letting that go, are you?"
"Never." She smiled—a real smile this time—and slid a plate toward him. "Eat before you collapse again."
The smell of toast and eggs hit him. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed the taste of something ordinary. He sat down, took a bite, and for once, the world didn't tilt beneath him.
Vivian joined him at the table, stirring her coffee. "You really do look better. No nightmares?"
"None."
"No glowing chest? No weird voices?"
"Viv," he said flatly.
She raised her hands. "Just checking."
"I'm fine," he said—and this time, it didn't feel like a lie.
The silence that followed was comfortable, not heavy. Vivian smiled faintly, sipping her coffee. Macon leaned back in his chair, letting himself believe it.
Maybe whatever curse had gripped him was finally over.
Maybe this was peace.
---
The day was golden when he stepped onto campus again.
Students hurried past, their laughter spilling through the courtyard. Everything felt painfully alive after the stillness of the past few days.
Macon slowed his steps, soaking it in. The smell of wet grass. Sneakers squeaking on the pavement. The rush of voices all around him. For once, he didn't feel like a ghost among them.
"Hey! Look who finally stopped ghosting the living!"
He turned.
Rina stood a few feet away, sketchbook hugged against her chest, pencil tucked behind her ear, her usual crooked smile on her face.
"Rina," he said, blinking.
"You disappeared for a week," she said, mock-offended. "What was it? Alien abduction? Secret mission? Tragic romance?"
"Just wasn't feeling well," he admitted.
Her expression softened. "You okay now?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
She tilted her head, studying him. "You look less haunted. I'll give you ten points for effort."
He laughed. "I'll take it."
"Sit," she ordered suddenly, pointing to a bench beneath the oak tree. "I'm drawing you. My professor says I only sketch sad people. You'll be my redemption arc."
He hesitated, then sat. "You're assuming I'm not sad."
"Oh, you are. But at least now you're sad and breathing."
Her pencil scratched across the page. The silence between them was light, easy.
"You move like someone trying to remember what peace feels like," she murmured.
He blinked, startled. "That's… accurate."
She smiled softly. "I draw people, remember?"
When she turned the sketchbook toward him, he almost didn't recognize himself. The expression was tired, distant—but alive. Human.
"See?" she said. "You look like yourself again."
Macon stared at it for a moment, then nodded. "Thanks, Rina."
"Anytime." She grinned, snapping the book shut. "Just don't disappear again, okay? I don't want to draw your tombstone."
---
By the time he got home, clouds had rolled in, heavy and gray.
Vivian sat at the dining table, laptop open. She didn't look up when he entered. "So—you survived the outside world."
"Barely." He dropped into a chair. "But it felt good. Rina made me sit for a sketch."
"Oh?" She smirked faintly. "So that's her name."
He rolled his eyes. "It's not like that."
Vivian chuckled, then her tone softened. "I'm glad, Macon. You really do seem lighter."
"I feel lighter," he admitted.
For a moment, the only sound was rain beginning to tap against the window. Vivian hesitated, then spoke quietly:
"About that night… I shouldn't have yelled. I was just scared. I thought I was losing you."
His chest tightened. He met her gaze. "You didn't. I'm still here."
"I know." She gave a faint, tired smile. "But I also know you're hiding something. You always do."
He exhaled. "Maybe. But right now, I just want normal."
Her eyes softened. "Then take it. Live it, even if it's borrowed."
For dinner, they sat together in quiet ease, like nothing waited on the other side of peace.
And for a while, Macon let himself believe.
---
That night, rain streaked the windows, the steady rhythm lulling him toward sleep.
For the first time in days, no voices. No glow. Just silence.
Sleep came softly.
Then—something shifted.
The air thickened. The smell of smoke and metal crept into the room. His hand twitched against the sheets.
He opened his eyes.
The ceiling blurred. His bedroom shimmered, like a reflection rippling across water. The sound of rain faded, replaced by a deep, resonant echo.
A horn.
Distant. Ancient. Calling.
Macon sat up sharply. "No…"
His chest burned. Light flickered beneath his skin, glowing faintly where the scar had been.
"Not again."
The fan above him warped into shadow. The floor dissolved beneath his hands. The room bled into smoke and flame.
"Stop!" he shouted, voice cracking. "I'm done with this—I'm—"
The pull came anyway.
Fierce. Relentless.
He felt himself falling—not through space, but through time. Through memory. Through something older than himself.
Then—silence.