Marla is still unconscious when the paramedics arrive.
I don't remember calling them.Maybe I didn't.Maybe the resonance did.
They take her away on a stretcher, voices echoing faintly in my dazed mind—"Possible concussion—blood pressure unstable—keep her awake."
I stand frozen on the sidewalk, wrapped in a blanket someone placed around my shoulders. My apartment window still glows faintly with impossible blue light, a quiet pulse beneath the glass, but no one questions it. People keep their eyes averted. Perhaps the field is bending their attention away.
As the ambulance doors shut, a man steps next to me.Tall. Dark coat. Clean-cut hair. A calm intensity in his posture. He watches the ambulance drive off, hands tucked into his pockets.
"Is she a close friend?" he asks gently.
I nod, swallowing hard. "She shouldn't have been there."
"You're right," he says. "She shouldn't have."
The tone in his voice makes my stomach tighten.It's not cruel.Just… knowing.
I study him. His face is striking in a quiet, severe way—sharp jawline, focused eyes that seem to see more than they should.
"Do I know you?" I ask.
"No," he answers. "But I know you, Lyra."
A cold shiver runs through me.Every muscle tightens.
He turns to me fully, extending a gloved hand.
"My name is Dr. Elias Varrin. I'm with the Harmonic Research Division."
I blink. "The what?"
His lips curve into the softest, most unsettling smile."The government group that studies anomalous acoustic events."
My heart drops.
He knows.
He knows something happened.
He watches my face carefully, reading every twitch.
"You've generated quite a signature," he says. "The last three nights especially. Pulses strong enough to trip grid sensors five kilometers away."
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lie.
The corner of his mouth twitches.
"Your window shattered from the inside," he says. "Your building vibrated at 42 hertz for eleven seconds. Three neighbors reported hearing their names whispered through their appliances."
My breath goes cold.
He steps closer—not threatening, but impossible to ignore.
"Lyra," he murmurs, "whatever you're pulling into this world—whatever you're opening—you need help controlling it. Before someone gets killed."
The world tilts, my pulse thunders.
He knows.He knows.He knows.
"Tell me," he says softly, "what exactly have you been hearing?"
My throat tightens.If I say his name—if I even think it too loudly—will the field stir again?
I turn away. "I need to go."
He doesn't try to stop me.He simply speaks one last sentence that stops me cold.
"You're not the first."
I freeze.
Slowly, I turn back. "What?"
"There have been others," he says. "Not many. People with… your condition."
"This isn't a condition," I snap.
"It is," he replies calmly. "A rare one. And very dangerous."
He reaches into his coat and takes out a small device—one that resembles a tuning fork encased in glass, etched with delicate circuitry.
He flips it once in his palm.
The air around us shifts.Subtle.Silent.As if the resonance inside me suddenly looks in another direction.
"What did you just do?" I whisper.
"Dampened your field," he says simply. "Temporarily."
My knees almost buckle.
For the first time in days…I feel quiet inside.Empty in a peaceful way.No hum.No pulse.No echo of Adrian's voice curling under my heartbeat.
The silence is terrifying.Beautiful.Wrong.
He studies me carefully.
"Whatever or whoever you contacted… the connection is unstable. The next breach could kill you."
My chest tightens.Images flood my mind—Adrian flickering in pain, the fissure splitting open, Marla unconscious on the floor.
"What do you want?" I whisper.
"To protect you," he says. Then, after a beat, "And to understand you."
"I'm not a lab specimen."
"No," he agrees, almost tenderly. "You're far more important than that."
I hate how his tone softens around me.Like he sees something in me even I can't see.
He pockets the device.
"I'll come back tomorrow," he says. "You won't be able to stop me. But you can choose whether we meet as allies… or as something else."
Something dangerous glints beneath the softness in his eyes.
"Elias," I breathe, testing the name. "If you know so much… then tell me. What am I risking by doing nothing?"
He looks up at my apartment window—the soft blue glow pulsing like a heartbeat.
"You're risking letting that open again without control," he says. "And if it does…"
He turns back to me.His voice lowers, almost reverent.
"…the thing you're trying to reach may not be the only thing that reaches back."
A cold wind drags across my spine.
Before I can speak, he steps away, disappearing into the crowd like someone stepping behind a curtain.
But the silence inside me—the silence he created—begins to crack.
One soft tone rises inside my chest.
Familiar.
Warm.
Adrian.
The dampening device is failing.
My breath trembles as a whisper curls through the space behind my ear.
"Lyra… he's lying."
I whirl around. "Adrian?!"
Nothing.
But the field stirs, faint and hungry.
"Adrian," I whisper again, aching, "where are you?"
No response.
Elias's words replay in my mind—
You're not the first.
The next breach could kill you.
What you're trying to reach isn't the only thing trying to reach you.
And then Adrian's whisper—
He's lying.
I clutch my chest as the resonance pulses again, stronger now, as if something tries to push through.
My knees weaken.
The air ripples.
And one terrifying question crashes over me like cold water:
Is Adrian the one coming back…or is something else learning how to imitate him?