The blaring of an alarm jolted him awake. His heart raced, chest heaving with shallow breaths as the noise drilled into his skull. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. The ceiling above him was cracked and stained, a familiar detail that slowly tethered him back to reality.

  Home.

  His hand slammed onto the alarm clock, silencing its shrill insistence. The room was still dark, save for the faint orange glow from the streetlight outside his window. He glanced at the time: 6:00 AM. Same as always.

  Rubbing his eyes, he sat up and groaned. His back ached, and his neck felt stiff. Another restless night. The faint smell of coffee from his neighbor’s apartment seeped through the walls, mingling with the stale air of his tiny studio. It wasn’t much, but it was his. A place he could afford, even if barely.

  He dragged himself to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him looked as tired as he felt. Dark circles beneath his eyes, stubble creeping across his jawline, and a permanent crease between his brows. He barely recognized himself anymore.

  The routine was automatic. Coffee brewed in the corner while he dressed. A faded jacket, worn jeans, and boots that had seen better days. His delivery schedule blinked on his phone, a digital reminder of the day ahead.

  By 6:45, he was out the door, the cold morning air biting at his face. The truck sputtered to life after a few grumbles, its engine echoing through the quiet street. Another day, another round of packages to deliver.

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  But something felt… off. As he backed out of the driveway, a faint sense of unease crept into his chest. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but the world felt heavier somehow.

  The day unfolded as it always did. Addresses blurred together as he worked through his deliveries. The radio played softly, though he hardly listened. The usual landmarks passed by: the corner diner, the park bench where the old man fed pigeons, the gas station with its flickering neon sign.

  It was around midday when he spotted her. Standing at the roadside, waving him down. A teenage girl with dyed blonde hair and bright clothes that clashed against the gray backdrop of the town. She looked out of place, like a character from another story who’d wandered into his.

  He almost drove past her. Picking up strangers wasn’t something he did. But there was something about her that made him hesitate. The way she looked at him—desperate, but also oddly confident.

  He slowed the truck, rolling down the window. “Need a ride?”

  “Yeah, thanks,” she said, climbing in before he could change his mind. Her voice was casual, almost nonchalant, but her eyes darted nervously to the rearview mirror.

  The conversation was light. She mentioned being late for something but didn’t elaborate. He didn’t press. By the time he dropped her off near the edge of town, he’d almost forgotten the unease he’d felt earlier.

  Almost.

  When he got home that evening, the familiar smell of his apartment greeted him. He sank onto the couch, too tired to think. The day had been long but uneventful. Normal.

  And yet… as he lay in bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, that same unease crept back in. It clung to him like a shadow, whispering that something was wrong.

  He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. When it did, it brought no comfort.

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