The night did not end with Bob's disappearance.
It stretched, long and merciless, into the hours when even the insects outside fell quiet. What little sleep they managed was shallow and cruel, fractured by whispers, shadows, and the steady press of something ancient against their skin.
When morning came, the hotel room felt heavier than stone.
Gems opened her eyes to damp sheets clinging to her skin. At first, she thought it was sweat, but when she touched her pillow, grit stuck to her fingers. She sat up, heart skipping, and rubbed her hand against the white cotton. Dark streaks smeared across the fabric—dirt. Old dirt. The kind that clung to the Appian Way.
Her stomach lurched. I didn't leave the room…
She looked to the others. Marky was sitting upright, fully awake, his back against the wall, as if he hadn't slept at all. His eyes met hers, tired but alert, and he gave the smallest shake of his head. He had seen it too, she realized—the signs of intrusion.
Then Rica screamed.
The sound tore through the heavy silence. Ry nearly fell out of bed in panic, scrambling toward her. Rica sat upright, clutching her arm, eyes wide as if she'd woken in the grip of a nightmare that had followed her into the waking world.
"Someone—someone was here," she gasped. Her voice cracked, trembling like broken glass. "He was lying right beside me—I felt him, his breath, his weight—"
Marky darted across the room, kneeling beside her. "Rica, breathe. Show me—"
When she pulled her hand away, everyone froze.
Purple bruises wrapped around her bicep in the shape of fingers. Not normal fingers. They were too long, with narrow tips that dug into her flesh as though whoever gripped her had claws instead of nails.
"No," Ry stammered, shaking his head violently. "No, Rica, you—you must've hit your arm on something. A bedframe, the wall—"
Rica's eyes snapped toward him, blazing. "You think I don't know what it feels like to be held down? You think I'm making this up?"
"Rica, I'm just—"
"I couldn't breathe!" she shouted, tears spilling. "I smelled dirt in my mouth, Ry! Dirt! He was here—"
Au buried her face in her hands, whispering Bob's name over and over, rocking slightly. Her sobs were muffled but sharp, breaking the air.
By the window, Anaya had not moved. She stood still, dark hair spilling over her shoulders, her eyes calm, too calm. Her lips parted slowly, her voice quiet but carrying.
"The road does not knock," she murmured. "It enters when it chooses."
"Shut up!" Au's voice cracked like brittle wood. She lifted her head, face streaked with tears, rage bursting through grief. "You—you sit there talking like you know everything, like you want this to happen—"
Anaya's gaze did not waver. She tilted her head as if observing a storm she could not be harmed by.
And that made it worse.
---
The Curse Unfolds
They tried to salvage the morning with breakfast, sitting around the table in the hotel's dining room. But the food sat untouched, the clinking of silverware a hollow sound against the growing silence between them.
Ry forced himself to break it, flipping through his notebook filled with the copied Latin inscriptions. His voice was strained, too loud in the hushed room.
"These carvings… I think they're records of sacrifices. Maybe… lists of the crucified, soldiers buried under the road. If we study them, maybe—"
His words stopped abruptly as blood dripped onto the page.
The group stared, horrified, as a thin stream of crimson ran from Ry's nose, staining the paper. Ry swore, fumbling for tissues, pressing them to his face.
"Stop reading that," Gems said sharply, slamming the notebook closed with more force than she intended. "You're making it worse."
"It's research," Ry shot back, his words muffled but angry. His hand shook as he pressed the tissue harder. "It's our thesis, Gems. If we don't—"
"You think bleeding out of your face is just part of studying?" Liz interrupted. Her voice was rough, hollow. She had her camera in her hands, clutching it like a lifeline. "Look at this instead. Look!"
She shoved the screen toward them.
The picture was from yesterday's ruins. Shadows stretched across crumbling stone. And in the corner—partially hidden, blurred by the failing light—stood Bob.
His face was slack. His eyes empty. But he was there.
"That's not possible," Amos whispered. His throat clicked as he swallowed hard. "He's… he's gone."
"He's still here," Liz insisted, her fingers trembling on the camera. "Look closer—behind Anaya. He's standing right behind her."
Every head turned toward Anaya.
Her expression did not change. Her voice was steady, low, like a prayer. "The road keeps what it desires. He walks it now."
The sound of her words broke Au.
With a scream, Au lunged at her, grief twisting into rage. Marky caught her just before she reached Anaya, wrapping his arms around her waist as she kicked and sobbed.
"You took him!" she shrieked. "You—witch—you let him die!"
"I didn't take him," Anaya said quietly, her eyes locked on Au's. "I only guided him to where he already belonged."
Her serenity was worse than cruelty. It scraped against their nerves, made their skin crawl.
---
The Call
By noon, desperation had hollowed them out. It was Liz who finally said, "We need to call Professor RV."
They huddled around the screen of Ry's laptop as the professor's face appeared, illuminated by the pale light of his office. His stern expression faltered when he saw them—pale, exhausted, fraying.
When they described the bruises, the dirt, the picture of Bob, his eyes darkened with fear.
"You must not listen to the whispers," RV said firmly, leaning closer to the screen. His voice was sharp, but beneath it lay something else: dread. "Do not follow them. The Appian Way is not stone alone. It remembers. It remembers blood. It remembers the crucified, the enslaved, the slaughtered. It is a road of memory, not mercy."
"Professor," Marky asked, his voice low, "what do we do?"
For a moment, RV hesitated. His hand trembled slightly as he adjusted his glasses.
"Stay away from the graves," he said finally. "Do not—"
The screen flickered. Static washed over their faces.
And then, faintly—so faint they almost thought it was a trick of the ears—they heard it:
The steady rhythm of boots. Marching. Hundreds of them, echoing across stone.
The connection cut.
Silence swallowed the room.
The silence after the professor's call was worse than his words.
It pressed down on them, heavy as the Roman stones themselves. Nobody moved, nobody breathed, as if breaking the quiet might invite whatever was marching in that faint, ghostly static.
Then Amos gagged.
He lurched from his chair, stumbling toward the bathroom. Gems followed on instinct, her heart hammering. The others trailed behind, voices tight with panic.
Amos fell to his knees in front of the sink, retching violently. His entire body convulsed. Gems knelt beside him, steadying his shoulders, whispering useless words of comfort.
And then it came.
Not bile. Not food.
Gravel.
Small gray stones spilled from his mouth, wet with blood and saliva, clattering against porcelain. His scream was guttural, raw, the sound of someone being unmade.
"Make it stop!" he howled, clawing at his throat. "It's in me—it's in me—"
Liz screamed, covering her mouth. Ry froze, pale as death, tissues still clutched against his bloody nose. Rica sobbed softly, whispering prayers in a shaking voice.
Marky yanked Amos back, holding him upright so he didn't slam his head against the floor. Gems grabbed a towel, wiping his mouth clean, her own hands trembling so hard she could barely hold it.
When the stones finally stopped coming, Amos collapsed against Marky, wheezing, blood staining his lips. His eyes darted wildly, terrified.
"I told you," he gasped. "Bob's still here. He—he's calling us. He wants us to follow."
"No," Gems said, sharper than she intended. Her voice shook, but she forced herself to grip Amos's arm. "Bob is gone. And if we follow, we're gone too."
Amos stared at her, wild-eyed, shaking his head.
But he didn't argue.
Not out loud.
---
The Mirror
That evening, Gems tried to wash the dirt from her sheets, as though erasing it might make the night less real. She carried the damp fabric into the bathroom, her chest tight with every step.
The mirror above the sink reflected her pale, strained face.
She turned the faucet on, splashing water on her cheeks. Cold droplets slid down her skin, grounding her. She breathed out, steadying herself.
When she looked up again, her reflection did not move.
Her breath caught.
Her hand went to her face. Her reflection's hand stayed down.
She stepped back, heart slamming against her ribs.
And then—slowly—her reflection smiled.
Not her smile.
A hollow, curved thing that stretched too wide.
She stumbled from the bathroom, slamming the door shut, her whole body trembling.
Marky caught her in the hall, steadying her before she fell. His hands were warm, grounding. His eyes searched her face, alarmed.
"Gems—what happened?"
She shook her head, unable to speak, clutching his shirt like a child clinging to a lifeline. For a moment, she let herself lean into him, chest rising and falling against his.
Marky didn't push for answers. He simply held her until the tremors passed.
And in that fragile silence, admiration bloomed in him—quiet, certain. Gems wasn't fearless. She was breaking like the rest of them. But even breaking, she fought to keep them together. That strength… it made his chest ache.
---
The Camera
Meanwhile, Liz had barricaded herself in the corner with her camera. She scrolled through photo after photo, muttering under her breath.
"Proof. I just need proof… then maybe we can—"
Her words cut off in a sob.
The images had changed.
The group's faces—hers, Rica's, Ry's, even Gems'—were cracked in the photos, like porcelain splitting under pressure. Thin, dark lines carved across their skin, splitting through their eyes and mouths.
She dropped the camera with a cry.
"It's showing us dead," she whispered.
Rica shook her head violently, tears spilling fresh. "No. No, don't say that. We—we're not—"
Liz laughed, sharp and broken. "You think this is funny? Look at it! We're already cracking. We're already—"
She clamped her mouth shut, biting down so hard her teeth chattered.
The camera lens glared up from the floor like a single unblinking eye.
---
Rica's Fainting
By the time they gathered for dinner, their nerves were threadbare.
The restaurant was quiet, candles flickering weakly in glass holders. The smell of roasted meat and garlic clung to the air, but none of them touched their food.
Au broke the silence first. Her voice was low, shaking with fury.
"She's the reason Bob is gone. All of this—" Her finger jabbed at Anaya, who sat in eerie calm across from her. "Every single thing since she showed up has been worse. Why is she here?"
"Because Bob brought her," Amos muttered, though his voice trembled. His eyes were hollow, haunted. "And maybe—maybe she's the only one who knows what's happening."
"She's the devil!" Au hissed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "She's smiling while he's gone, while all of us—"
"Stop it," Rica whispered suddenly, her voice small. Her hands shook as she gripped the table. "Please. Just stop."
Then her eyes rolled back, and she slumped sideways into Ry's arms.
"Rica!" Ry cried, panicked. He held her upright, shaking her gently. "Baby, wake up—wake up—"
Her lips moved faintly, breathless.
"He's here," she whispered. "He's marching. He's coming for us."
The candlelight sputtered violently, as though her words had summoned a draft.
For a moment, no one breathed.
Anaya's lips curved faintly, almost like a smile.
"Enough!" Gems slammed her palm onto the table, the sound echoing. Plates rattled, silverware clinked.
Everyone froze.
Her hands trembled, but her voice cut like glass. "If we tear each other apart now, the road doesn't need to kill us. We'll do it ourselves."
Her gaze darted across the table, fierce, desperate. "We survive by staying together. Do you hear me? Together."
For a moment, the group just stared at her, caught in the force of her conviction.
Then Marky slowly placed his hand over hers.
"Together," he said quietly.
His eyes met hers, steady and full of something deeper than admiration.
It wasn't enough to erase their fear. But for a fleeting moment, it gave them an anchor.
The dinner ended in silence. Plates sat untouched, wine glasses half-drained. Nobody dared look at Anaya again, not after Rica's fainting and her cryptic whisper.
Back at the hotel, the group moved like shadows. Nobody wanted to be alone, but being together was no comfort either.
Around midnight, Liz jolted awake.
At first, she thought it was her dream. The sound was too faint, too strange—like the distant roll of thunder.
But it grew louder.
Boots.
Hundreds of them, marching in rhythm. The heavy, deliberate sound of feet pounding ancient stone.
Her chest froze. She crept to the window, trembling, and pulled the curtain aside just enough to peek through.
The street outside was empty. Silent.
But the sound didn't stop.
It moved through the walls, into her bones, into her teeth.
Like the earth itself was remembering.
Liz pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from screaming.
Down the corridor, Gems lay awake, staring at the ceiling. Marky had offered to sit outside her door "just in case," and though she had smiled faintly, part of her had wanted to say yes.
But she didn't.
She needed to be strong. For them.
Still, she could not sleep. The events of the night played again and again—the stones, the mirror, Rica's collapse. Bob's absence felt heavier than his presence ever had.
A sound broke her thoughts.
A shuffle. Slow, dragging footsteps.
Her breath caught.
Someone was in the hallway.
She sat up, listening hard. The steps grew closer, scraping against the old wood. Each pause between movements stretched too long, as if the walker was waiting for her to notice.
She tiptoed to the door and pressed her ear against it.
Nothing.
Then—thud. A heavy knock rattled the door.
Her whole body seized.
Silence followed.
Then a voice, low and cracked, slithered through the wood.
"Gems…"
Her blood turned to ice.
It was Bob.
She stumbled back from the door, hand pressed against her chest. She wanted to scream for the others, but her throat locked tight.
Another knock. Softer this time. Almost… pleading.
She forced her legs to move.
When she finally yanked the door open, the hallway was empty.
No footsteps. No voice.
Only a long trail of dust, stretched across the floor like a footprint that never ended. It shimmered faintly, as if glowing in the dim light.
Her chest heaved as she stared down at it. The dust led away, vanishing around the corner.
And though every fiber in her body screamed to slam the door and never open it again, another part of her—small, treacherous—ached to follow.
Because maybe, just maybe, Bob was still out there.
A sudden scream ripped through the silence.
It was Rica.
The group bolted from their rooms, stumbling half-asleep into the hallway. Rica stood by her door, sobbing uncontrollably, pointing at the wall.
"I saw him—I swear I saw him—" she choked. "He was standing there, right there, watching me!"
Her finger shook as she pointed.
The wall was blank.
But dust clung to it, outlining the faint silhouette of a man. Broad shoulders. A head tilted forward. A stance they all recognized.
Bob.
Au collapsed against the wall, weeping openly. Liz shook her head, whispering "No, no, no" over and over. Ry clutched Rica, rocking her as though to shield her from what she'd seen.
Anaya stood behind them, silent, her expression unreadable. Her dark eyes glittered in the weak light.
Marky finally spoke, his voice low and tight.
"He's not gone."
The others turned to him, some with hope, some with horror.
Marky's gaze met Gems'. "Whatever this is… it's not finished with us."
And for the first time, Gems couldn't deny it.
The curse wasn't waiting.
It had already entered their rooms.
As they huddled together in the corridor, the hotel lights flickered once… twice… then dimmed.
In the silence, the marching began again.
Louder. Closer.
This time, none of them dared look.