Chapter 2
Echoes of an Omen
Jacob Carter awoke before dawn to the glow of his phone screen. His thumb swiped through dozens of notifications—missed calls from his mother Maria, frantic texts from his twelve‑year‑old sister Emma, and a flood of social‑media alerts. He sat up on his unmade bed, heart pounding, and stared at the pile of messages. All he could remember was the black sky.
He reached for yesterday's voicemail and replayed it: "Jacob, Emma said she saw shadows moving on her ceiling. I don't know if she's scared or imagining things." Maria's voice cracked. He hadn't called back. Instead, he'd spent the evening hunched over his laptop, editing video clips of floating strawberries and posting them online in a desperate bid for attention—only to be met with indifference.
Worse, he was unemployed again—his last warehouse temp assignment had ended without extension, and yesterday's customer‑service interview had brusquely declined him for lack of experience. That rejection sat like a stone in his chest: at twenty‑one, college degree in hand, he still hadn't landed work. The uneaten instant noodles in his pantry mocked him.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood. The apartment was quiet—Maria already at her care‑home shift, Emma off on the school bus, and Leo dropped at daycare. Jacob pulled on yesterday's hoodie and grabbed his bag. He needed a distraction, even if it meant another unpaid temp shift or a cold‑call pitch to a local café.
By 8:20 a.m., he was jogging toward a small grocery store, hoping at least to find breakfast. Along the way, every streetlamp and storefront window seemed to hold a reflection of yesterday's anomaly. No news trucks yet—just hushed whispers among neighbors.
Inside the store, Jacob leaned toward a carton of strawberries. He did it on a dare to himself: record proof this world had gone mad. When the carton hovered off its shelf, he filmed instinctively. It bobbed for a heartbeat—then tumbled back. He uploaded the clip, fingers trembling, eyes darting for reactions. A few likes trickled in, but no one shared it. The world was bigger than his small corner of Minneapolis, and he felt more invisible than ever.
His stomach growled. He grabbed a granola bar, scanned the shelves for milk—anything to fill the ache. At checkout, the cashier didn't look up when he paid. No chatter about eclipses or alien messages—just the beep of barcodes.
Back home, he sank into the living‑room chair with soggy granola and a lukewarm drink. He dialed Maria.
"Hey, Mom." His voice was flat.
"Jacob," she answered, relief in her tone. "How are you?"
"Fine." He paused. "The store—it happened again." He described the floating fruit.
Maria listened in silence. "Emma's scared, Jacob. She sees things moving—voices she can't explain."
"I'll keep an eye on her." He wished he had time to call every landlord, every temp agency—anything to secure work and stop the bills from piling up.
That night, in the dark of his room, Jacob drifted into a restless sleep. He dreamed of an endless forest, trees glowing like embers. In the hush, a whisper called his name—urgent, insistent. He ran, but the path twisted, fracturing reality under his feet.
He woke at 11:47 p.m., gasping. On his phone, an email subject glowed: "Congratulations, Defender."
He stared at the words, mind racing. Yesterday: no job, mounting debt, a family depending on him. Today: a message he couldn't ignore. As the digital clock glowed 11:48 p.m., Jacob Carter realized his life had shifted once again—this time, impossibly beyond anything he had ever known.