The silence after the window cracked is so complete it feels wrong. Not peaceful—wrong. As if the world is holding its breath, waiting to see what I'll do next.
I step slowly toward the glass, each movement careful, measured, as though any sudden shift might fracture the air itself. The cracks pulse faintly, blue-white threads glowing like veins beneath frosted skin. When I touch the surface, the resonance inside me stirs—an answering thrum that vibrates through my bones.
The window warms under my fingertips.
Not warm like sunlight. Warm like a heartbeat.
My heartbeat.His heartbeat.
"Adrian," I whisper.
The glass breathes out a soft chord, the same three-note motif that keeps echoing through the city. It vibrates through my hand, my arm, my ribs. It feels like someone is holding me from the inside.
"You opened the field."
His voice forms behind the music, thin but real, sliding into my ear like a memory made physical. I turn, expecting to see him, but the room is empty.
"Adrian, where are you?"
"Here…"His voice blurs, stretching like sound underwater. "Everywhere… wherever the resonance reaches."
I swallow hard. "You told me not to let it grow. But I don't know how to stop it."
The window flickers. Another crack blossoms outward, shimmering briefly before settling into a new glowing pattern. It looks like a symbol—one I've never seen before. Something geometric, impossibly precise.
"It's responding to you," Adrian says gently. "To your longing. To your fear. To… us."
The last word trembles, as if saying it costs him something.
"Is that bad?"I hate how small my voice sounds.
His answer is soft, aching.
"It's beautiful. And dangerous."
A rush of wind sweeps across the room. The lights dim to a faint amber pulse. My piano strings hum on their own again—higher this time, forming a chord that feels like fingers running down my spine.
"Adrian… is this you?"
"Not just me."
"What do you mean?"
The chord deepens, turning into something richer, more layered. I step back, heart pounding. It feels like a presence is forming in the air—several presences—circling, listening.
"Lyra," he says, sharp now. "Stop playing. Stop feeding it."
"I'm not playing."
"Yes. You are."
And then I realize it—my heartbeat has synced perfectly with the resonance. Every pulse is a note. Every breath, a measure. I'm performing without touching a single key.
The field is reading me.
The room tilts. My knees weaken.
"Adrian, I don't know what to do."
The glowing cracks flare, flooding the studio with blue light. Dust lifts in swirling patterns, forming faint silhouettes—humanoid, but wrong, like outlines of people drawn by trembling hands.
"Adrian…"My voice shakes. "There's something here."
"They're echoes," he whispers. "Imprints left behind by the resonance. They aren't alive. Not yet."
"Not yet?"
The dust-shapes drift closer. They have no faces, no features, only outlines defined by vibration. But when one passes near me, I hear something—a whisper, a memory, a fragment of music—like voices trying to rise from the static.
The resonance is collecting things.Gathering them.
I step backward until I hit the piano. My fingers brace themselves on the keys, accidentally pressing one.
A single note rings out.
Every echo freezes.Their outlines sharpen.Their attention turns to me.
"Adrian…" I breathe. "They heard that."
"Lyra. Don't play again."
"I didn't mean to."
"I know. But the field doesn't understand intention. Only sound."
One of the echoes drifts within inches of my face. Its voice is barely audible, thin as cigarette smoke:
"—ya—ra—"
It's trying to say my name.
My chest tightens. Fear curls under my ribs—but so does curiosity.
"What are they?" I ask.
Adrian's voice grows faint, distressed.
"Half-born frequencies. They're not meant to exist in your world. They're drawn to you because you're the source."
"The source of what?"
"The opening. The bridge. The frequency that called me through."
I shake my head. "I didn't open anything on purpose."
"Lyra… love is a purpose."
The echoes shudder, as if the word love resonates through them. Their outlines change, growing clearer, drifting toward me again. One reaches out a rough, shimmering hand.
"Adrian," I whisper, "they're touching the piano."
"Stop them!"
But I'm too slow.
The echo's hand lands on the wooden lid, and the piano strings erupt in a violent, discordant chord—loud enough to rattle the cabinets, loud enough to make the lights flare into blinding white.
The echoes convulse. Their forms stretch like shadows pulled too long.
"Adrian!" I cover my ears. "What's happening?"
"They're stabilizing. The field is giving them form—Lyra, you have to leave the room. Now."
"I'm not leaving you!"
"You're not leaving me. You're protecting us."
The piano slams shut on its own. The windows tremble. The glowing cracks spiral outward like roots.
The echoes solidify further.
One of them whispers again—clearer this time, almost human:
"Lyra…"
I stagger back. The floor vibrates under my feet. The walls ripple like water.
"Adrian," I cry, "they're becoming real!"
"Because your heart is calling them the same way it called me."
"No."I shake my head violently."No, I only wanted you."
The room hushes.The echoes stop moving.
"Say it again," Adrian breathes, faint but eager.
My chest aches with all the unsaid things of the last three years.
"I only wanted you, Adrian. Just you."
The resonance responds like a living creature. The windows brighten. The echoes dim, flicker, collapse back into drifting dust.
But the dust… turns gold.
Like his light.
The room settles. The trembling stops. My heartbeat returns to its own rhythm—still wrong, still doubled, but mine again.
Then, slowly, the dust gathers into a single shape.
Tall.Familiar.Beautiful.
Adrian's outline forms again—clearer than before, glowing from within, as if the resonance has given him more substance.
I choke on a breath. "Adrian… you're—"
He lifts a hand, fingers trembling but real enough to cast a shadow.
"You called me stronger this time."
I step forward. "Does this mean you can stay longer?"
He smiles—soft, aching, full of longing.
"It means I'm learning how."
My pulse thunders.
He looks at me with that impossible tenderness, the kind that breaks and heals at the same time.
"Lyra… don't be afraid of what's coming."
I swallow. "Why? What's coming?"
His glow dims, just slightly.
"Because the resonance isn't finished with us."