Paper brushed against his palm. He froze.
Ethan frowned, pulling a crumpled note from his pocket. No memory of putting it there. Heartbeat spiking, he unfolded it. Black ink, sloppy letters:
"Meet me on the roof."
He stared at the words like they owed him answers. Who left this? When?
At first, he thought someone slipped it into his pocket. But… when? No one had gotten close enough all day.
He crushed the paper in his fist. Could it be her?
The idea sent a chill down his spine—hope and doubt tangled together. Since the first dream, he'd been chasing scraps of her: blurry smiles, half-remembered laughs. If this note was really from her… finally, a solid lead.
He scanned the hallway. Empty. But the itch between his shoulder blades said otherwise. Watched.
Decision made.
If he wanted answers, the roof was where he needed to be.
The echo of his footsteps bounced too loud in the hallways. The school felt familiar and wrong. He couldn't pin why—lockers a shade darker? Ceilings lower?—but his gut churned.
He passed the library. Dusty books. Stale air. The teacher's lounge—empty, chairs too perfect. Lockers where kids whispered, voices low like static.
No one started. Just background noise in this dream.
But one thing clawed at him.
The kid's voice from day one: "Didn't think you'd transfer."
Nonsense. This wasn't his school. So how'd they know him?
Shook it off. Focus.
The roof.
Metal door stood cracked open. Cold breeze slipped through, reeking of wet cement.
He pushed it. Wind slapped his face, hair wild. Two steps forward. The city sprawled below, lights blinking. But his eyes weren't on the view.
In the center of the roof, something snagged his gaze.
A folded note. Same as the one in his pocket.
His heart kicked hard as he moved closer. Picked it up, hands shaky, and unfolded it:
"Meet me here tomorrow."
He scanned every shadow. Chain-link fence. Dark corners where streetlights died. Hunting for clues—a footprint in dust, a door left ajar, a whisper tangled in the wind.
Nothing.
But the feeling stayed—eyes on his neck. The air felt charged, thick with something he couldn't see—something hiding in the night's breath.
A shiver crawled up his spine. Not fear. Anticipation. Part of him wanted this to be real. Not another dead end in this maze of dreams.
Crushed the note. Rough paper bit his palm.
If someone left this… they wanted him to find them. But why here? Why tomorrow?
His heart hammered—doubt and adrenaline tangled. First real lead. The uncertainty clawed at him, but…
It made him feel alive.
He tucked the note into his pocket. Stared at the city's blinking horizon.
If someone would be here tomorrow, he'd come.
And this time—no more games.