A chill crept up my spine as I caught movement in the corner of my eye. A shadow—fast, almost too fast—slipped past the dim glow of my desk lamp and vanished into my bedroom. My breath hitched. I turned sharply, heart hammering against my ribs.

  Had I imagined it?

  The apartment was silent, save for the faint hum of the city outside. But something felt…wrong. The kind of wrong that made my skin crawl, the kind that whispered that I wasn’t alone.

  Swallowing, I stepped forward, forcing myself to follow. My room was just as I had left it—neatly made bed, closed closet, curtains barely swaying in the night breeze. There was no one there. No sign of movement, no misplaced objects.

  Except…

  My gaze flickered to my desk. The glass box. The feather.

  Gone.

  My chest tightened. I blinked, rubbed my arms as if that could chase away the goosebumps rising on my skin. I had kept that feather locked away for so long. It was impossible for it to appear here.

  Maybe I was imagining things. Maybe exhaustion was playing tricks on me.

  A sharp click echoed through the silence.

  The front door.

  A jolt of panic shot through me. My feet moved before I could think, rushing back into the living room. My pulse roared in my ears as I braced myself for—

  Nate.

  Relief flooded me so quickly my knees nearly buckled. He stood in the doorway, bags slung over his shoulder, eyes scanning me with mild confusion.

  “What’s with that face?” he asked, shutting the door behind him.

  I exhaled, pressing a hand to my chest. “You scared me.”

  Nate raised an eyebrow. “Did I?” He dropped his bags and sighed. “I’m staying here, by the way. Thought you could use some company.”

  I opened my mouth to argue, but he was already digging through his bag, pulling something out.

  A glass box.

  A feather.

  My breath caught.

  “You used to cherish this thing,” Nate said, turning it in his hands. “Remember? You wouldn’t even let me have it.” He glanced at me, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Thought you might want it back.”

  My fingers clenched.

  This wasn’t possible.

  Just moments ago, I had seen it vanish. The glass box, the feather—it was gone. I had stood in my bedroom, staring at the empty space where it had been, trying to convince myself that I was just imagining things.

  And now…

  Now it was here. In Nate’s hands.

  I felt the weight of it pressing against my reality, a cold, sharp edge that didn’t quite fit. My mind scrambled for an explanation, but none made sense.

  Had I really seen it disappear? Or had I imagined that?

  Had I been hallucinating?

  No. No, I was sure of what I saw. The shadowy figure, the movement, the eerie silence that followed—it wasn’t just in my head. But if that was real, then how was the feather here now?

  My throat felt dry.

  “I—” My voice wavered, and I forced a breath before trying again. “Where did you get that?”

  Nate frowned at me, tilting his head slightly. “Your room, obviously. Where else?” He tapped the glass with his fingers. “It was on your desk. You never let me have it before, so I figured I’d bring it to you this time.”

  I swallowed hard.

  It had been in my room? But that couldn’t be right. I hadn’t seen it there when I packed my things. And why would it show up right after I thought I saw it vanish?

  None of it made sense.

  First, I hallucinated the feather. Now it was really here.

  Something was wrong.

  I pushed my thoughts away. Maybe I was just overthinking. Maybe I was exhausted.

  Reaching out, I took the glass box from Nate’s hands, my fingers brushing against the cool surface. The feather inside looked… ordinary. Just a feather. Nothing more.

  Not as mysterious as I once believed.

  Not as significant as it had always felt.

  I turned it slightly, letting the dim apartment light catch the golden speckles on the black strands. It was beautiful, sure, but it didn’t feel special anymore.

  Had it ever been?

  A dull ache settled at the back of my head as I forced a smile. “Thanks,” I muttered, tucking the box under my arm like it meant nothing. Because maybe it didn’t.

  Maybe it never did.

  Maybe it really was just a feather, and I was the one who had made it something more.

  But then—why?

  Why the hallucination? Why now?

  The questions loomed, but I shoved them aside, convincing myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me. Stress, exhaustion—something reasonable, something normal.

  Nate studied me for a second, then shrugged. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. Just tired.”

  “Then get some sleep,” he said, ruffling my hair like he used to when we were kids. “And don’t let your feather ghosts keep you up.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  I forced out a small laugh, pretending his joke didn’t stir something unsettling inside me.

  Because deep down, a whisper of doubt remained.

  After a quick shower and a half-hearted attempt to shake off the lingering weirdness, I placed the feather on my nightstand and flopped onto my bed. Maybe a good night’s sleep would reset my brain. Maybe tomorrow I’d wake up and forget all about the hallucination.

  Spoiler alert: I didn’t.

  Instead, I woke up with an entirely different mission—shopping.

  Dragging Nate along was a strategic decision. He had a wallet. And muscles. Mostly the muscles.

  “Why am I here?” he groaned as I pulled him through the automatic doors of the mall.

  “Because I need clothes, snacks, and survival gear for the trip,” I said, already making a beeline for the nearest clothing store.

  “You don’t need survival gear,” he argued. “It’s a college-organized hiking trip, not an expedition to an uncharted jungle.”

  “That’s exactly what someone who would get eaten first in a horror movie would say.”

  Nate rolled his eyes but followed me anyway, hands shoved into his pockets.

  It started with a couple of t-shirts and a hoodie. Reasonable. Then came the jackets. Then a pair of boots. A backpack.

  And then—the real challenge began.

  I took a deep breath. “Snack time.”

  “Great,” Nate deadpanned. “Because I was really hoping to carry an entire grocery store on my back today.”

  “Perfect! That’s the spirit.” I grinned, grabbing a basket—then another one for him.

  Nate looked at the baskets. Then at me. Then back at the baskets. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Noah.”

  “Nate.”

  Twenty minutes later, my brother was single-handedly carrying the entire snack aisle.

  Two bags of chips dangled from his fingers. A tower of instant noodles teetered in his arms. He had a shopping bag hooked onto each wrist like he was modeling for some bizarre new fashion trend—"Overburdened Older Brother Chic."

  “Remind me why you’re bringing this much?” he huffed as I casually tossed a box of chocolate bars on top of the pile.

  “In case of emergencies.”

  “What kind of emergencies require twelve packets of sour candy?”

  “The kind where I need sugar to stay alive.”

  He groaned. “This is why Mom says you’re impossible.

  “This is why Mom likes me more.”

  I expected a sarcastic comeback, but instead, Nate just sighed and shook his head. “Alright, whatever. We’re done, right?”

  I glanced at the bags, considering. Then at his face—he looked five seconds away from throwing me into the nearest shopping cart and wheeling me out of the store.

  “…Yeah, we’re done.”

  He muttered something about “never shopping with me again” as we made our way to the checkout.

  But just as I was handing over my card, something caught my eye.

  A glass display near the counter.

  Inside—among the random trinkets, souvenirs, and keychains—sat a single black feather with golden speckles.

  Exactly like mine.

  My breath hitched.

  I turned to Nate. “Did you put that there?”

  He blinked. “What?.”

  I glanced back at the display, heart hammering.

  The feather was gone.

  The unease from the disappearing feather still lingered in my chest, but before I could spiral into overthinking, my eyes landed on something far more important.

  Ice cream.

  “STOP THE CAR!” I shrieked, slapping Nate’s arm.

  He panicked and nearly swerved into the next lane. “WHAT THE—NOAH!”

  “Ice cream shop,” I said as if that explained everything.

  Nate let out a long, suffering sigh. “Are you serious?”

  “Dead serious.”

  He muttered something under his breath but pulled into the parking lot anyway.

  The moment he stopped the car, I jumped out and practically sprinted toward the counter.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was happily munching on a triple scoop of chocolate fudge while Nate begrudgingly poked at his single, sad scoop of vanilla.

  “Vanilla?” I snorted. “You have all these flavors, and you pick the most boring one?”

  “It’s a classic,” he argued.

  “It’s basic.”

  “Your face is basic.”

  I gasped dramatically, clutching my chest. “How dare you.”

  Nate smirked, clearly pleased with himself, but before I could plot my revenge, I spotted something in the distance.

  An amusement park.

  Oh, this day was about to get even better.

  “Nate, we’re going,” I declared, already dragging him toward the entrance.

  “Going where?” he asked, confused.

  I pointed. “There.”

  He blinked at the flashing lights, the towering roller coasters, the chaotic swarm of children, and immediately shook his head. “Nope. Absolutely not.”

  I tightened my grip on his wrist. “Too late. You’re doomed.”

  He groaned as I dragged him inside. “Why are we even here?”

  “Sibling date,” I said casually.

  Nate gave me a look. “That’s not a thing.”

  “It is now,” I shrugged. “We haven’t gone out together in years, and I want to do something fun.”

  He sighed but didn’t argue. He never could say no to me.

  I was about to gloat over my victory when a random kid—a literal five-year-old gremlin—walked up, pointed at Nate, and announced loudly,

  “You look old.”

  I choked on my ice cream.

  Nate froze. “Excuse me?”

  The kid tilted his head. “Are you her dad?”

  My soul left my body.

  Nate looked offended on a spiritual level. “I—WHAT? I AM NOT—”

  “You have dad energy,” the kid continued, munching on a lollipop like he hadn’t just ruined Nate’s entire existence.

  I wheezed.

  Nate turned to me, utterly betrayed. “Noah. Say something.”

  I wiped a tear from my eye. “He’s kinda right, though."

  Nate gaped at me. “YOU TRAITOR.”

  The kid smirked. “Yeah, Grandpa, don’t stress too much. It’s bad for your back.”

  Nate was five seconds away from launching into a full-on debate with a child, so I did the responsible thing.

  I grabbed his arm and dragged him away before we both got banned from the amusement park.

  He was still grumbling as we walked toward the roller coaster. Something about “kids these days” and “I do not have dad energy.”

  I just smirked, taking another bite of my ice cream.

  Best. Day. Ever.

  After hours of dragging Nate through every possible ride, playing ridiculously overpriced carnival games (where I won and he didn’t, which I would never let him forget), and stuffing ourselves with way too much junk food, we finally made it back home.

  The moment we stepped inside the apartment, Nate collapsed onto the couch with a dramatic groan.

  “Noah,” he mumbled into a cushion. “Never again.”

  I grinned, stretching my arms. “Oh, come on. That was fun.”

  “For you. I got bullied by a toddler.”

  I gasped. “You mean that adorable child who spoke only facts?”

  Nate sat up, looking personally offended. “You’re enjoying this way too much.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  He rolled his eyes and stood up. “I need a shower. And sleep. And possibly therapy.”

  “Good idea,” I said, plopping onto the couch. “But before that…”

  He narrowed his eyes. “No.”

  “You don’t even know what I’m about to say.”

  “Yes, I do. And it’s a no.”

  I grinned sweetly. “Nate.”

  “Noah.”

  I leaned forward. “Pack my bags.”

  He blinked. Then laughed. “Absolutely not.”

  I sighed dramatically. “Okay, I guess I’ll just pack last minute and forget all the essentials. I mean, it’s not like I need important things like—oh, I don’t know—clothes, first aid, snacks—”

  Nate groaned. “You’re impossible.”

  I grinned. “You love me.”

  “I tolerate you.”

  “Close enough.”

  With one last suffering sigh, Nate stomped off to my room to pack.

  I leaned back, victorious.

  Of course, I would never admit that I could’ve packed on my own. But where was the fun in that?

  The morning air was crisp, carrying the lingering chill of the night before. The sky stretched vast and cloudless, a soft, endless expanse of blue. Inside my apartment, silence settled heavily, broken only by the distant hum of the waking city.

  I slung my bag over my shoulder, taking one last glance at my packed belongings. The essentials were there—clothes, snacks, my notebook—and, almost against my better judgment, the feather. It lay carefully tucked between the pages of my journal, hidden away as if that could somehow erase the unease it brought me.

  A knock at the door pulled me from my thoughts.

  "Noah, you ready?"

  Nate.

  I opened the door to find him leaning against the frame, arms crossed in that signature overprotective stance.

  "Yeah, just grabbing my bag," I said, stepping aside to let him in.

  His gaze flickered over my packed things before settling on me. "You're sure about this? I can still pull some strings and get you out of it."

  I scoffed, adjusting the strap on my shoulder. "Nice try, but I'm going."

  He sighed, shaking his head like I had just signed up for something reckless—which, knowing my luck, wasn’t entirely impossible. "Figured you'd say that. Just… be careful, alright?"

  Before I could answer, my phone rang. Irene.

  "Noah! Move it, or we’re leaving without you!"

  I sighed, muttering, "I'm coming," before ending the call.

  "Guess that’s my cue," I said, turning back to Nate.

  With a resigned shake of his head, he grabbed my bag and led the way to the car.

  The university was already buzzing with energy when we arrived. A large bus sat idling by the curb, its doors open as students piled in, chattering excitedly. Near the entrance, my friends huddled together, their animated voices rising over the morning air.

  Irene spotted me first, grinning. "About time! Thought you were gonna ditch us."

  "Not a chance," I said, climbing onto the bus.

  The atmosphere inside was infectious—laughter, conversations, the eager anticipation of a weekend away from coursework and deadlines. I settled into my seat, letting the hum of voices surround me.

  But as the bus rumbled to life and pulled away from the city, a strange unease curled at the edges of my thoughts.

  For a fleeting moment, it felt like something—or someone—was watching me leave.