The hospital was alive with chaos. The cries of patients, the hurried footsteps of nurses, the muffled voices of doctors calling for supplies—all of it churned into a relentless din that pressed against my temples. It would have been easier to give in, to let the weight of my injuries hold me in place. But every cry of pain I heard from the hallways was a sharp reminder that this was my fault.

  I leaned against the bed, letting the spinning in my head settle, and scanned the room. Nancy hadn’t returned yet, and no one else had come to check on me since her last visit. The perfect opportunity.

  Step one: Get out of this room without being noticed.

  Moving was agony, every muscle in my body protesting as I shuffled toward the door. I cracked it open just enough to peer into the hallway. Doctors and nurses rushed past, their faces drawn tight with exhaustion, barely sparing a glance toward the patient rooms. A cart clattered noisily in the distance, masking the sound as I eased the door open and stepped out.

  Step two: Blend in.

  A frail hospital gown wasn’t exactly inconspicuous. I needed something else, something that would let me move through the hospital unnoticed. Just as the thought crossed my mind, I spotted a janitor’s closet a few doors down, its door ajar.

  I winced as I shuffled toward it, careful to keep my steps quiet despite the cacophony around me. Inside, the smell of bleach hit me like a punch, sharp and clean. I shut the door softly behind me and turned to take in my options.

  The shelves were lined with cleaning supplies and tools, and in the corner, a cart sat stocked with mops, buckets, and… yes. A uniform.

  It wasn’t perfect—a little too big, and the name patch on the chest read “Harold”—but it was good enough. I yanked it off the hanger, gritting my teeth against the pain, and quickly swapped the gown for the oversized outfit. The rough fabric scratched against the bandages wrapped around my torso, but I ignored it.

  I tied the cap low over my face and grabbed the mop from the cart. A part of me felt ridiculous, like a child sneaking into the movies, but I pushed the thought away.

  Step three: Act the part.

  I wheeled the cart into the hallway, keeping my head down. No one paid me any attention. To them, I was just another cog in the machine, cleaning up the mess left in the wake of the chaos.

  The elevator was too obvious, too exposed. Instead, I aimed for the stairwell. Each step down sent fresh jolts of pain through my body, and by the time I reached the next landing, I was gripping the rail so tightly my knuckles had gone white.

  I paused to catch my breath, leaning heavily on the mop handle. My heart thundered in my ears, and sweat trickled down my back, but I couldn’t stop now.

  Step four: Avoid security.

  The exit was just ahead, a pair of double doors at the far end of the corridor. The main desk was positioned nearby, manned by a sharp-eyed security guard who scanned the hall with practiced ease. I hesitated, considering my options. A direct approach was too risky.

  Instead, I pushed the mop cart into a utility room near the desk and rummaged through the supplies until I found a pair of goggles and a dust mask. I slipped them on, obscuring my face further, then grabbed a trash bag from the bin and slung it over the cart.

  Wheeling the cart forward, I adopted the sluggish gait of someone resigned to a long shift. The guard glanced at me briefly, his expression disinterested and returned to his paperwork.

  Almost there. Just a little farther.

  The doors opened with a pneumatic hiss as I pushed through, and the cold night air hit me like a slap. I didn’t dare stop to celebrate. I kept moving, weaving through the hospital’s side parking lot until I was out of sight of the building. Only then did I let myself collapse against the cart, breathing heavily.

  I was halfway across the lot when I felt it—a prickle at the back of my neck, the unmistakable sensation of being watched. I glanced over my shoulder and froze. A security guard stood just a few yards away, his flashlight beam slicing through the darkness.

  "Hey!" he called, quickening his pace toward me. "You there! What are you doing out here?"

  I cursed under my breath and tried to move faster, but my legs betrayed me, wobbling beneath the strain. I barely made it a few steps before the pain surged through my chest, stealing the air from my lungs. The guard caught up with me easily, stepping into my path.

  "You’re one of the janitors, right?" he asked, his tone shifting from suspicion to concern as his flashlight swept over my dishevelled disguise. "You don’t look too good. What happened? Are you hurt?"

  I opened my mouth, scrambling for an excuse, but my body betrayed me, trembling under the strain of standing. My grip on the mop handle faltered, and I staggered.

  Before I could fall or explain, a voice cut through the night.

  "There you are!"

  Nancy.

  She was running across the lot, her footsteps echoing on the pavement, her face a mixture of relief and exasperation. She jogged up to us, slipping an arm around my shoulders as if she’d been searching for me.

  "Sorry about this," she said with a strained smile, looking at the guard. "She’s my sister. We just moved here, and she’s been trying to pick up extra shifts to help out. Guess she pushed herself too hard."

  The guard blinked, his concern deepening. "She shouldn’t be working if she’s in this state. Does she need help getting back inside? I can—"

  "No, no," Nancy interrupted smoothly. "She’s just exhausted. I’ll take her home and make sure she rests. You know how stubborn people can be about leaving work unfinished." She chuckled lightly, though her grip on me tightened.

  The guard hesitated, studying me for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. "Alright, but take care of her. She doesn’t look like she’s in any condition to be on her feet."

  "Thank you," Nancy said quickly, steering me toward the parking lot.

  Once he was out of earshot, Nancy turned to me, her expression a mixture of exasperation and concern.

  "Ellie," she said, her voice low but sharp, "what the hell were you thinking? You’re in no condition to be wandering around out here, let alone trying to escape the hospital. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

  I straightened as much as my battered body allowed and met her gaze, my voice steady despite the pain. "I need to get to the library. I need to talk to Luther. There’s something he knows—something I need to figure out. The city’s depending on me, Nancy. I can’t just sit around and do nothing."

  Nancy stared at me for a long moment, her jaw tight as if she were fighting an internal battle. Finally, she sighed, running a hand through her hair.

  "You’re unbelievable," she said, her tone softer now, almost resigned. "You’re not going to make it far like this, you know that, right? You’re half-dead already, and you’ve got no car."

  "I’ll figure it out," I replied, though even I wasn’t sure how.

  Nancy rolled her eyes and shook her head. "No, you won’t. Come on."

  I blinked at her. "What?"

  "I’ll take you to the library," she said, her arm slipping more firmly around my shoulders to steady me. "Because if I don’t, you’re going to collapse in some ditch, and I’d never forgive myself. But you’re explaining everything on the way there. Got it?"

  I nodded, too drained to argue. Nancy led me toward her car, her grip strong and steady against my weakened frame.

  The hospital loomed behind us, its lights shrinking in the rearview mirror as Nancy pulled out of the lot. With every mile that passed, the weight of what I had to do pressed heavier on my chest.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  The car hummed softly as Nancy drove through the darkened streets. Outside, the chaos of the city unfolded: distant sirens, a faint orange glow on the horizon where fires raged in the industrial district, and a haze of smoke clinging to the skyline.

  Nancy broke the silence first, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "You know, Ellie, I think I’ve been pretty patient. But you’re going to tell me what the hell is going on now."

  I shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat, my body still aching from my earlier escapade. "Nancy, it’s... complicated."

  "Complicated?" she snapped, gripping the wheel tighter. "Ellie, I just found you trying to sneak out of a hospital dressed as a janitor, looking like you’ve been through hell. A few weeks ago, you started acting weird—distant, secretive—and now there are gas explosions and fires all over the city. You’re clearly mixed up in something, and now you’re dragging my grandfather into it. You owe me an explanation."

  I kept my gaze fixed on the road ahead, trying to ignore the weight of her stare. "Nancy, I appreciate what you’ve done for me, really, but this isn’t something you want to get involved in."

  Nancy let out a frustrated laugh. "Too late for that, don’t you think? I’ve already saved your life twice now, Ellie. Twice! If I’m going to keep doing that, I need to know what I’m up against. What kind of danger are you dealing with?"

  Her words stung because they were true. I’d dragged her into this, whether I meant to or not. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, wincing as even that small movement sent a jolt of pain through my chest.

  "Fine," I said finally, my voice low. "I’ll tell you."

  Nancy glanced at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and frustration.

  "It’s called Aether," I began. "It’s not... natural. It’s something beyond our understanding. It doesn’t belong in this world, and whenever it seeps through, it corrupts everything it touches—objects, places, people."

  Nancy’s eyebrows furrowed. "Corrupts? Like what? Turns them evil or something?"

  "Not exactly," I said, struggling to find the right words. "It twists them, changes them into something unnatural. It’s hard to explain, but that’s what’s causing the gas leaks and explosions. There’s... something out there, something created by Aether. I let it escape, and now it’s wreaking havoc on the city."

  Nancy was silent for a moment, her hands tightening on the wheel. Then she shook her head. "No," she said firmly. "No, that’s not it. You’re lying to me."

  I blinked, taken aback. "What?"

  "You’re making this up," she said, her voice rising. "You’re trying to hide the truth behind some ridiculous story about... what, magic? Monsters? Come on, Ellie. I might not have a fancy detective badge, but I’m not stupid."

  "It’s not a lie," I said quietly.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Nancy let out a sharp laugh. "Right. And I suppose my grandfather is in on this too? What, does he keep a secret stash of magic books under the library?"

  I didn’t respond, which only seemed to fuel her anger.

  "Unbelievable," she muttered, shaking her head. "I thought you trusted me."

  "I do," I said quickly, meeting her eyes. "But this isn’t something you can just take at face value, Nancy. I get why you don’t believe me. I really do. But everything I’ve told you is true."

  Nancy didn’t respond, her jaw tight as she stared at the road ahead. The silence between us grew heavy, stretching on for what felt like an eternity.

  Finally, I spoke, my voice soft. "Thank you."

  Nancy glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "For what?"

  "For everything," I said. "For helping me when you didn’t have to. For not leaving me behind when you could’ve."

  She snorted, though there was no malice in it. "Please. If I left you to die, Grandpa would never let me hear the end of it."

  I chuckled weakly, though it quickly turned into a cough that left me wincing. Nancy sighed, muttering something under her breath as she reached over to adjust the blanket I hadn’t realized she’d brought with us.

  "Just... don’t make me regret this, Ellie," she said finally.

  "I won’t," I promised, though even I wasn’t sure how much weight that promise carried.

  As we got closer to the library, the silence in the car grew heavier. The hum of the engine filled the air, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the thoughts swirling in my head. I reached for the radio, my fingers trembling slightly as I turned the dial. After a few moments of static, a crisp, tense voice cut through.

  “This is Eleanor Price, reporting live from New Hollow’s industrial district.”

  Nancy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and I leaned back, bracing myself for what I already knew would be bad news.

  “What began as a contained gas fire has now spiralled into one of the worst disasters this city has faced in recent memory,” the reporter continued, her tone clipped and urgent.

  I glanced at Nancy, but her eyes stayed fixed on the road, her jaw clenched tight.

  “The blaze, initially thought to be caused by a gas leak, has spread rapidly across the industrial sector. Entire warehouses have been consumed, sending plumes of thick black smoke billowing into the sky. The fire has already claimed over a dozen lives, with casualties expected to rise as emergency services continue their search efforts.”

  The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My chest tightened, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe.

  “The city’s hospitals are overwhelmed,” the reporter went on. “Burn victims and those suffering from smoke inhalation line the hallways. Supplies are running critically low. Officials are issuing urgent calls for blood donations and medical volunteers.”

  My mind flashed back to the overcrowded hospital I’d just left, the smell of antiseptic and smoke still lingering in my nose. My fists clenched at my sides, nails biting into my palms.

  “As of this morning, the evacuation radius has been extended again,” the reporter continued, her voice steady but strained. “Families from nearby neighbourhoods are being forced to leave their homes as the fire shows no signs of slowing. Fire crews are stretched dangerously thin, unable to keep up with the blaze’s relentless spread. Reinforcements have been requested from neighbouring cities, but officials fear it may not be enough.”

  Nancy shifted beside me, her lips pressed into a thin line. I could feel the question on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t ask it.

  “And in perhaps the most chilling statement yet, Fire Chief Arnold described the blaze as ‘moving like a living thing,’ consuming everything in its path with almost unnatural speed. Investigators are still working to identify the source of the gas leak, but until they do, officials warn that the situation may grow even worse.”

  The reporter’s voice faltered, just for a second. “This is Eleanor Price, signing off for now. Stay tuned for further updates.”

  The broadcast faded into sombre music. My hand moved automatically to shut it off.

  Nancy finally broke the silence, her voice tight and edged with frustration. “How the hell are you involved in this, Ellie?”

  Her words hit like a jab, and I flinched, my body too worn out to deflect the accusation.

  “I told you already,” I said, exhaling a small, weary breath.

  Nancy didn’t let up. “Right. This Aether thing.” Her tone was sharp, dripping with disbelief. “Are you seriously sticking to that story instead of just telling me the truth?”

  I met her glare but didn’t have the energy to fight back. “Ask your grandfather yourself when we get to the library,” I said flatly. “He’ll confirm everything I’ve told you.”

  Nancy’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, her knuckles going white. She glanced at me, her expression a mixture of doubt and simmering anger, before finally turning her focus back to the road.

  “Fine,” she muttered under her breath, her tone laced with scepticism. The car fell into an uneasy quiet as we continued toward the library.

  ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  Nancy parked the car right outside the darkened library, the tall windows reflecting the streetlights like silent sentinels. She helped me out of the car, her arm firm under my shoulder as I hobbled toward the entrance.

  “It’s locked,” Nancy muttered, fumbling in her pocket. She retrieved a small key and unlocked the door, the heavy oak creaking as she pushed it open. The smell of old books and varnish welcomed us, familiar but slightly musty in the cool night air.

  “Let’s get you to the couch,” Nancy said, her voice softer now, almost apologetic.

  I didn’t argue. My body felt like a weight I was dragging behind me, and every step burned. Nancy guided me to the far corner of the room, easing me down onto the worn leather couch.

  “I’ll get my grandfather,” she said, her tone hesitant. She gave me one last look, as if debating whether to say something, but then turned and disappeared up the stairs.

  Left alone, I leaned back into the couch, my eyes scanning the room automatically. Bookshelves loomed like watchful giants, their rows of spines glinting faintly in the dim light. I pressed a hand to my chest, where the dull ache was beginning to feel sharper.

  Why isn’t this healing? The question gnawed at me, insistent and unrelenting in the silence. My injuries from Richard a month ago had been far worse—broken ribs, bruised organs, deep gashes. Yet somehow, I’d recovered quickly, unnaturally so. Back then, the pain had ebbed away within minutes, my body knitting itself together like it was defying reason.

  But now? Now the wounds felt... worse. Each breath scraped against the inside of my chest, laboured and shallow. The dull ache that had settled in my ribs had grown sharper, radiating outward with every heartbeat. It wasn’t just pain—it was as if something deeper was unraveling, the threads holding me together fraying bit by bit.

  I shifted slightly on the couch, and the movement sent a jolt of white-hot fire through my side. I bit down on a groan, my teeth clenched. This wasn’t normal, not even for injuries like mine.

  It wasn’t just the physical toll that worried me. There was something else, something I couldn’t explain. My skin felt cold, but the ache inside burned, searing and relentless. The pulsing pain wasn’t steady; it came in waves, each one stronger than the last, as though my body were losing a battle I didn’t even understand.

  What if it’s the Aether? The thought slithered into my mind uninvited, and I couldn’t shake it. Aether didn’t just alter the world around it—it corrupted, twisted, consumed. Was this its way of claiming me, of finishing what it had started?

  My thoughts were interrupted by hurried footsteps on the staircase. I looked up just as Luther appeared, his face pale with worry.

  “Let me guess,” he said, his tone grim as his eyes scanned me. “Your injuries are slowly getting worse?”

  I blinked in surprise. “How do you know that?”

  Luther gave a weary sigh, his hand gripping the edge of the railing. “Not my first rodeo, remember?” His words carried the weight of experience, the kind that made me uneasy.

  Nancy followed close behind, her brows knitted with concern. Luther turned to her. “Nancy, help me get her up. We’re going to the basement.”

  Nancy froze mid-step. “The basement? You’ve never let me down there before.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” he replied curtly, already moving toward the back of the library.

  Nancy shot me a look, one part confusion and one part suspicion, but she didn’t argue. Together, they helped me to my feet, and we shuffled toward a heavy door tucked behind the central staircase.

  Luther unlocked it with a ring of old keys, the faint clink echoing in the quiet room. As the door creaked open, a blast of icy air swept over us. I shivered involuntarily, and Nancy let out a small gasp.

  “It’s freezing,” I muttered, pulling my coat tighter around me.

  “That’s not the worst of it,” Luther said, descending the first few steps.

  The smell hit me next—sharp and metallic, like fresh meat left too long in the cold. I wrinkled my nose, fighting the sudden wave of nausea.

  “What the hell is down there?” Nancy whispered, her voice barely audible.

  Luther didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gestured for us to follow, his expression dark and unreadable.

  As we descended the staircase, the air thickened with a weight I couldn’t quite explain. It wasn’t just the chill, though the cold bit deeper with every step. It was something else—something alive, pressing against my senses like a too-heavy blanket.

  At the bottom, the basement revealed itself in a dim, otherworldly glow that seemed to have no source. Shelves lined the walls, stacked with strange jars containing things I couldn’t begin to identify. In one, an iridescent liquid swirled lazily, its surface breaking as if something inside was breathing. In another, clusters of spiny, writhing growths pressed against the glass, their colours shifting as I looked at them.

  The floor was uneven, covered with patches of strange moss that pulsed faintly, its hue oscillating between green and violet. Vines dangled from the ceiling like veins, their translucent surfaces revealing slow, pulsing flows of dark fluid. Lining the room were plants that shouldn’t exist—ferns with leaves like crystal shards, flowers with petals that seemed to shiver as we passed, and trees no taller than my knees that bore fleshy, fruit-like bulbs that oozed something viscous.

  Scattered among the flora were mounds of flesh, grotesque and misshapen, as if they were half-formed beings that had been discarded mid-creation. They pulsed weakly, emitting faint, wet sounds that made my stomach turn. Some of them had eyes—small and black, staring aimlessly. One mound twitched as we passed, a gurgling noise escaping it as though it was trying to speak.

  Despite the horrors around me, my body relaxed almost instinctively. The oppressive ache in my chest eased, and the air, though cold, felt welcoming, like a soft embrace. I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, the tension in my shoulders loosening for the first time in hours. This place, as alien and grotesque as it was, felt... right. Like I belonged here.

  Nancy, however, didn’t share my ease. She was rigid beside me, her eyes darting around the room as though she expected something to leap out at her. “God, what is this place?” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hand gripped my arm tightly, her nails digging into my skin.

  “You don’t feel it?” I asked, my voice surprisingly steady. “It’s... calm.”

  Nancy snapped her head toward me, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Calm? Are you serious? It feels like I’m being stared at by a hundred eyes. Like everything here is waiting for me to let my guard down so it can...” She trailed off, shuddering. “I don’t know. Just... I don’t like it.”

  Luther, who had been silent until now, turned back to us, his face grim. “That’s because everything here is watching you,” he said matter-of-factly. “Everything in this room has a consciousness—plants, mounds, even the air. And they don’t like the living. Your presence... agitates them.”

  Nancy recoiled slightly, her grip on my arm tightening. “Then why the hell are we down here?”

  Luther sighed, motioning for us to follow him toward a stone table at the centre of the room. “Because Ellie doesn’t count as entirely living anymore, does she?”

  The words hit me like a hammer, but I couldn’t deny the strange comfort I felt here, a sharp contrast to Nancy’s discomfort. I wanted to refute Luther’s statement, but deep down, I already knew he was right.

  As we reached the stone table in the center of the room, I noticed its surface was covered in intricate carvings—symbols and lines that twisted and spiraled, their shapes impossible to follow for too long without my head spinning. The table emanated a faint warmth, a strange juxtaposition to the freezing air in the basement.

  Luther turned to face me, his expression a mixture of determination and unease. “Sit,” he instructed, gesturing to the edge of the table.

  Nancy hesitated, her hand still gripping my arm. “Are you sure this is safe?” she asked, her voice barely masking her fear.

  Luther fixed her with a steady gaze. “Nothing here will harm Ellie. In fact, this is the only place where she’ll stop deteriorating. But it’s not a solution—just a temporary reprieve.” He looked back at me. “You’ve been exposed to Aether for too long without understanding its cost. It’s starting to claim its price.”

  Nancy’s face twisted in frustration. “What does that even mean? Aether, exposure—none of this makes sense! Ellie, why are we even trusting this madness?”

  I sighed, the weight of exhaustion making my shoulders slump. “Because it’s real, Nancy,” I said quietly. “I’ve seen it, felt it. And so has your grandfather. You don’t have to believe me—just watch and listen.”

  Nancy looked between Luther and me, her lips pressing into a thin line before she finally released my arm. I climbed onto the edge of the table with his help, every movement sending jolts of pain through my body. The ache that had been pulsing in my chest all day seemed to still slightly, the table’s warmth spreading through me like a balm.

  Luther stepped back and began rummaging through a cabinet that appeared to grow out of the wall itself. The drawers opened with faint groans, revealing vials of swirling liquid and shards of crystal that hummed softly. He selected a small, dark bottle and returned to the table.

  “This,” he said, holding it up, “is going to buy you time. Just enough to finish what you’ve started. But make no mistake—this is a patch, not a cure. Your connection to Aether is deepening, Ellie, and it’s going to get worse.”

  “What happens if I don’t stop it?” I asked, my voice quieter than I intended.

  Luther hesitated before answering. “You’ll stop being you.”

  The words hung in the air, heavy and final. Nancy turned away, her hands gripping the back of a nearby chair as though it were the only thing grounding her. “This is insane,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else.

  Luther ignored her, uncorking the bottle and tilting it toward me. “Drink.”

  I hesitated. The liquid inside shimmered with an unnatural light, its surface rippling even though the bottle was still. “What is it?”

  “Think of it as a stabilizer,” he said. “It won’t heal you, but it’ll keep you from falling apart long enough to fix the mess you’re in.”

  With no other options and the knowledge of the destruction I’d caused weighing heavily on me, I tipped the bottle back. The liquid was thick and cold, sliding down my throat with a taste like burnt metal and ash. Almost immediately, a warmth spread through me, pushing back the pain and exhaustion. My mind felt clearer, sharper.

  Luther nodded, satisfied. “Good. Now, we need to discuss what you’re up against and how to end it before it consumes this city.”

  Nancy finally turned back to us, her face pale but resolute. “If we’re going to do this, I need answers. All of them.”

  Luther’s gaze flicked to me, then back to her. “You’ll get them, but for now, we need to move quickly. The longer this thing feeds, the harder it will be to stop.”

  I slid off the table, feeling steadier than I had in days. “Let’s start, then,” I said, determination hardening my voice.

  Nancy sighed, shaking her head as she moved to support me again. “You better be right about all of this, Ellie,” she muttered. “Because if you’re not, we’re all screwed.”

  Together, the three of us climbed the stairs back into the library’s main floor, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on us like the freezing air we left behind.