CHAPTER 4 — THE SECOND VOICE & THE NIGHT THAT WOULDN'T END
The voice didn't echo. It didn't vibrate through the room like in supernatural stories.
It simply appeared inside me — quiet, breath-thin, like someone whispering under a blanket.
"Arin… stay awake…"
Two words.
Not loud.
Not threatening.
But unmistakably not mine.
I froze, my fingers still pressed against the wall. The air in the room felt strangely heavy, like the atmosphere thickened by a few degrees without warning.
"Who…?" I whispered.
Nothing answered.
I wasn't sure whether I was grateful or terrified.
A rational part of me tried to explain it away — exhaustion, stress, the adrenaline crash after the day I'd had. But somewhere deeper, in the part of the mind that senses danger before the senses do, I knew better.
This wasn't a hallucination.
This was the thing inside me waking up.
My heart thudded louder. Not faster — just louder, like each beat wanted to make sure I heard it.
I moved to the center of the room, as if distance from the walls could help. It didn't. The voice wasn't in the room.
It was in me.
For a moment, I stood there, breathing unevenly, gripping my own arms just to feel something solid. The quiet stretched, long and tight, like an invisible wire in the air.
Then—
a faint pressure bloomed at the back of my skull. Not pain. More like someone brushing their fingers against the inside of my mind.
And then the whisper came again:
"Stay awake."
This time I stumbled backward, shoulder hitting the table.
A glass rattled and fell over.
"No," I muttered, shaking my head. "No, no— I can't be hearing things, I can't be—"
"Arin."
That single word stopped everything.
Because the voice wasn't afraid.
Wasn't confused.
Wasn't panicked.
It sounded… tired.
Deeply, impossibly tired.
Like it had been exhausted for years.
And that tiredness felt more human than anything I had experienced today.
When the World Breathes Back
The lights flickered.
Just once.
Barely a tremble.
But I felt it — not just through my eyes, but in the air brushing against my skin, like the whole room had inhaled sharply.
My own breath caught.
And then—
the silence changed.
It wasn't quiet anymore.
It was thick, vibrating with something unspoken.
Like the air itself was holding a secret.
My eyes darted around the room, searching for anything out of place. A shadow where it shouldn't be. Movement in the corner of my eye.
Nothing.
Just familiar walls, familiar furniture, familiar loneliness.
But I felt watched.
Not by someone outside.
By something inside.
"Okay," I whispered shakily. "Okay, Arin— breathe. Risa said this was normal. Normal for… awakened people."
But nothing about this felt normal.
I crossed the room slowly, each step careful. My palms were sweating. Every sound — the faint hum of the fridge, the distant honk of traffic — felt too sharp.
When I reached the window, I pulled the curtain open.
The street outside was the same as always: streetlights buzzing, stray dogs lying in the shade, a man smoking on his balcony.
Normal. Quiet. Unaware.
But in the reflection of the glass—
for a fraction of a second—
I saw another outline behind my own.
Thin.
Blurred at the edges.
Like a silhouette still deciding it had a shape.
I gasped and spun around.
No one.
Nothing.
But the whisper followed:
"You're not alone anymore."
My knees weakened.
"Who are you?" I asked the empty room.
A long pause.
Then:
"…The part of you that woke up."
My skin prickled.
My instincts — the ones Risa said to trust — didn't scream danger. They didn't tell me to run. They just told me one thing, clear as a heartbeat:
This voice wasn't a stranger.
It was something that had always been here.
Sleeping.
Waiting for the right moment.
"Why now?" I whispered.
The answer was soft.
A breath inside a breath.
"Because something is coming."
The back of my neck turned cold.
I swallowed hard. "Something?"
The voice exhaled — a sound like wind sliding under a door.
"Someone."
Silence dropped heavy in the room.
For the first time since morning, real fear wrapped around my spine and held tight.
Not fear of the voice.
Not fear of myself.
Fear of the unknown person the voice spoke of.
I leaned against the window, my pulse hitching. "Risa… she said she would find me tomorrow."
The voice hummed low.
"Tomorrow is too late."
My mouth went dry.
A chill swept through the room — small, subtle, but enough to make me wrap my arms around myself.
"Stay awake, Arin."
The voice faded like smoke.
"Tonight… they will find you first."