The next morning, Ethan woke up with the kind of grogginess that made his bones feel heavy. His dreams had been a twisted mess of flickering lights and distorted whispers, but the details slipped away the moment his eyes opened. Just a haze of strangeness lingering like a bad taste.
He rolled off the couch and stretched, his joints cracking in protest. He hadn't even bothered getting into bed last night. After the headache, he'd shoved the book into a drawer and tried to convince himself it was just a dumb impulse buy, nothing more.
His apartment looked even smaller in the pale morning light. The single-room studio was cluttered but not quite messy—art supplies scattered across a makeshift desk, coffee mugs piling up on the tiny counter by the sink. The walls were decorated with his sketches and digital mock-ups, most of them unfinished. Graphite smudges stained his fingers almost constantly, evidence of late-night inspirations and half-formed ideas.
Ethan himself was nothing spectacular to look at. Average height, maybe a little taller than most, with a lean frame built more from neglecting meals than regular exercise. His hair was a dark, unruly mess that he couldn't quite decide whether to grow out or cut short. Hazel eyes that teetered between green and brown depending on the light. His jawline was sharp, though mostly hidden beneath a scruff of stubble he kept forgetting to shave.
He was twenty-four and barely holding things together. Freelance graphic design paid the bills, but only just. He didn't have much of a social life, mostly by choice. He'd never been good at the whole friendship maintenance thing. People had a tendency to drift away when you only replied to their texts days later.
Still, there was Sophie. Somehow, she'd stuck around. His childhood friend, one of the few constants in his life. They usually met up once or twice a week, mostly at her insistence. Ethan had always admired her stubbornness, even when it grated on him.
His phone buzzed on the counter, and he picked it up, squinting at the screen. A text from Sophie.
Sophie:Coffee at Hale's in an hour? Your treat since you bailed last time.
Ethan groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been meaning to meet up with her last week but got lost in a project for a client who wanted "a logo that felt futuristic but nostalgic at the same time." Whatever the hell that meant.
Ethan:Yeah, yeah. Fine. See you there.
He tossed his phone aside and shuffled to the bathroom. A splash of cold water on his face helped clear the lingering grogginess. His reflection stared back at him, tired eyes framed by dark circles.
Maybe he should just toss the book.
The thought stuck with him as he left the apartment, his mind buzzing with excuses for why he shouldn't keep it. But he didn't throw it away. He didn't even take it out of the drawer.
He didn't dare touch it again.
Hale's Coffeehouse was the kind of place Ethan would never go if Sophie didn't drag him there regularly. It was trendy and overpriced, with minimalist decor and patrons who seemed permanently glued to their laptops. Still, the coffee was good, even if Ethan hated paying seven bucks for something he could make himself for half the price.
Sophie was already there when he arrived, seated by the window with her phone in one hand and a steaming mug in the other. Her hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, strands of auburn framing her sharp, freckled features.
"You look like death," she greeted him as he slid into the chair across from her.
"Good morning to you, too."
"Late night?"
"Yeah. Couldn't sleep," Ethan mumbled, glancing at the barista who seemed entirely too cheerful for this early in the day. "The usual, please."
The barista nodded and moved off to make his coffee. Ethan's gaze returned to Sophie, who was studying him with a frown.
"Seriously, you look like you're about to pass out. What's going on?"
"Nothing," he said, a little too quickly. "Just... work. You know how it is."
"Uh-huh." Sophie's eyes narrowed. "You sure that's all?"
Ethan hesitated, his mind flickering back to the book. The symbol on its cover. The pain that had split his skull like an axe. But admitting that to Sophie would only lead to more questions, questions he didn't have answers for.
"Yeah, that's all," he lied.
"Alright," Sophie replied, though her expression made it clear she wasn't convinced. "Just... don't burn yourself out, okay? You're already pale enough to be mistaken for a ghost."
Ethan rolled his eyes, a hint of a smile breaking through. "I'll be fine. Just need to get back on a regular sleep schedule."
"Or, you know, get a life outside of work."
"Yeah, because you're such a social butterfly," Ethan shot back.
"I'm serious, Ethan. You've been locking yourself away like a hermit. When's the last time you did something just for fun?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words wouldn't come. Fun? Did people his age even have time for that?
The barista dropped his coffee off at the table, and Ethan took a grateful sip, letting the warmth chase away the chill that had settled in his chest.
"I'll be fine," he repeated. "Just... dealing with stuff."
"Okay. But if you need to talk, you know where to find me." Sophie's voice softened, genuine concern cutting through her usual sarcasm.
They spent the next hour catching up, Sophie rambling about her new job at the art gallery, her impossible boss, and the insufferable patrons who thought art was just a bunch of random colors slapped onto a canvas. Ethan listened, nodding along at the right moments, even managing a few laughs.
But even then, his mind kept circling back to the book. That strange, twisted desire to open it again. To understand it.
By the time he left Hale's, the sky was grey with the promise of another downpour. Ethan pulled his jacket tight around him and made his way home, the chill in the air only adding to the unease that had settled into his bones.
He needed to get rid of that damn book. Forget about it.
But when he returned to his apartment, he found himself standing by the drawer, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the handle.
Ethan stared at the closed drawer, his breathing shallow. The pull of the book was undeniable. And in that moment, he realized the truth.
He wasn't going to throw it away. Not yet.