It wasn't a sound, at first.
More like a... space. A subtle pause where a sentence should've ended, but didn't. Like a breath that hung around too long.
Rion noticed it in class. When the teacher spoke, sometimes there was a delay—half a second, maybe less. But it felt wrong. Like the next word had to be approved before it was allowed.
Then it came again. A voice. Not out loud.
Just... under the surface.
> He's starting to hear me.
It wasn't in his head. Not exactly. It was between his thoughts. Right where silence used to live.
That night, he walked home slowly. No music, no distractions. Just the sound of the wind, his shoes on the asphalt, and the faint rhythm of something watching the words form around him.
He tried not to think.
That didn't help.
The voice whispered again, clearer now:
> If he looks directly at the page, we'll lose him.
Rion stopped walking.
There was no one behind him.
But the world felt paused.
Like someone was holding the story by the spine, deciding whether to keep going.