Aether woke to the sound of glass shattering.

  For a moment, he lay perfectly still, heart pounding, unsure if the noise had come from his dreams or from the waking world. The apartment was dark, shadows thick and unmoving. He strained to listen—there it was again, a brittle, splintering crack, as if the air itself was breaking apart.

  He sat up, breath fogging in the cold morning light. The window was intact, but the reflection within it was not his own. For a heartbeat, he saw a stranger’s face—a pale, hollow-eyed version of himself, mouth moving in silent warning. Then the image flickered and vanished, leaving only the trembling glass.

  Aether’s skin crawled. He pressed his palm against the window, half-expecting it to dissolve beneath his touch. Instead, it was solid and cold, grounding him in the moment. But the sense of unreality lingered, a weight pressing down on his chest.

  He glanced at the desk. The blank book lay open, its pages no longer empty. New words had appeared overnight, written in the same trembling hand:

  “You are not alone. Do not trust the mirrors.”

  Aether’s pulse quickened. He remembered the faceless figure beneath the streetlamp, the eyes in the mural, the children’s rhyme echoing in his mind. The city was closing in, its secrets pressing closer with each passing day.

  He dressed quickly, nerves taut. As he moved through his morning routine, he noticed small changes—his tea tasted faintly of metal, the clock’s hands spun too quickly, and the door to his apartment seemed heavier, as if resisting his escape.

  On the landing, he nearly collided with his neighbor, Mrs. Halden. She looked at him with unfocused eyes, her expression blank. “Did you hear it?” she whispered, voice barely audible. “The breaking?”

  Aether hesitated. “What breaking?”

  She shook her head, lips trembling. “Never mind. It’s nothing. It’s always nothing.” She shuffled away, leaving Aether staring after her, a chill settling deep in his bones.

  He stepped out into the street. The city felt different—brighter, but in a brittle, feverish way. People hurried past, heads down, avoiding his gaze. A police carriage rattled by, its officers scanning the crowds with anxious eyes. Overhead, the sky was streaked with unnatural colors, as if someone had spilled ink across the clouds.

  Aether clutched the book tighter beneath his coat. Every instinct screamed at him to run, to hide, to forget everything he’d seen. But something stronger—curiosity, or perhaps defiance—kept him moving forward.

  He needed answers. And he was beginning to suspect that the city itself would do anything to keep them hidden.

  Aether walked quickly, shoulders hunched, the city’s chill biting through his coat. Every step felt heavier, as if the ground itself resisted his passage. He kept his eyes on the pavement, but the world around him refused to fade into the background.

  Shops that had stood for years now bore unfamiliar signs, their windows displaying goods he couldn’t name. The bakery’s familiar warmth was gone, replaced by a dark, empty storefront. Even the air tasted different—sharp, metallic, tinged with the scent of ozone and something older, like burnt paper.

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  He passed a cluster of people gathered at a street corner, their voices low and urgent. Snatches of conversation drifted to him:

  “…another one missing…”

  “…not safe after dark…”

  “…did you see the sky last night?”

  Aether’s pulse quickened. He wanted to ask questions, to demand answers, but the words caught in his throat. The group fell silent as he approached, eyes sliding over him, through him, as if he were a ghost.

  He ducked into an alley, seeking refuge from the city’s scrutiny. The shadows here were thicker, the silence deeper. He pressed his back against the cold brick, forcing himself to breathe slowly. The book in his coat felt heavier than ever, as if it contained not just secrets, but the weight of the world itself.

  He pulled it out, hands trembling. The words on the page had changed again:

  “The more you notice, the more you lose. Choose what you see.”

  Aether’s mind raced. Was he losing memories? Was the city rewriting itself each time he glimpsed the truth? He tried to recall the bakery, the scent of bread, the baker’s tired smile—but the details slipped through his fingers, replaced by a vague sense of absence.

  A sudden movement caught his eye. At the far end of the alley, a figure stood watching him—a silhouette, featureless and still, just like the one beneath his window the night before. This time, Aether didn’t look away.

  The figure tilted its head, as if in approval. Then, with a shudder that rippled through the bricks and air alike, it vanished, leaving only a faint echo of footsteps and the lingering sense of being appraised.

  Aether pressed a hand to his chest, steadying his breath. The city’s fractures were widening, and he was caught in the center. But for the first time, he felt something other than fear—a flicker of resolve, a stubborn spark.

  If the city wanted him blind, he would force himself to see.

  He tucked the book away and stepped back into the light, determined to follow the cracks wherever they led—even if it meant losing everything he thought he knew.

  Aether emerged from the alley, blinking against the harsh, fractured sunlight. The city’s colors seemed too bright, edges too sharp, as if reality itself had been overexposed. He moved quickly, every instinct urging him to keep moving, to avoid drawing the attention of whatever forces watched from the city’s cracks.

  He tried to retrace his steps toward the library, hoping for answers or at least the comfort of familiar walls. But the streets refused to align as they should—turns that once led to open squares now ended in blind alleys, and landmarks shifted when he wasn’t looking. It was as if the city was actively working to confuse him, to keep him from finding his way back.

  Aether’s breath quickened. He passed a lamplighter whose face blurred and reformed with every step, eyes flickering with the same silvery light he’d seen in the cracks. The lamplighter paused, meeting his gaze for a moment that stretched too long.

  “Lost things don’t always want to be found,” the lamplighter whispered, voice echoing strangely, as if spoken from the bottom of a well. “Careful, or you’ll forget what you’re searching for.”

  Aether stumbled away, heart hammering. The words clung to him, heavy and cold. He could feel memories slipping at the edges—what had he eaten for breakfast? What was his mother’s name? The details blurred, replaced by the relentless urge to keep searching, to not let the city win.

  He ducked into a narrow passage, pressing his back against the rough stone. He forced himself to focus: the blank book, the warnings, the fractures in reality. Each clue felt like a thread, and he was desperate not to let go.

  A sudden chill swept through the passage. Shadows thickened, and for a moment, the world went silent. Aether looked down at his hands and saw words crawling across his skin—faint, shifting lines of text, as if his story was being written and rewritten in real time.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting panic. When he opened them, the words were gone, but the fear remained.

  Somewhere above, a bell tolled—a sound warped and distant, as if from another world. Aether straightened, resolve hardening. He would find the library, find answers, even if it meant risking everything he still remembered.

  He stepped back into the shifting streets, the city’s gaze pressing in from every side, and walked on.