I turned around.
Nothing there.
When I looked back...
Nathan was gone.
---
I stood alone in the clearing, shaking.
The trees leaned in, like they were watching. Waiting.
In my pocket—
The pendant.
In my chest—
The burn.
In my head—
A voice that wasn't mine.
It didn't speak in words.
It hummed. Soft at first. Like breath behind my ear.
Then—
> "You opened it."
I stumbled back, tripping over roots that hadn't been there before.
Or had they always been there?
I ran.
Branches whipped my face. The woods twisted with each step.
The moon blinked out.
---
I don't know how long I ran, but when I stopped, I wasn't at the dorms.
I was by the statue.
The one near the chapel.
The one that never had a name.
But tonight—
Something had scratched words into its base.
With something sharp.
"The hill isn't fair. The fare is hell."
I stepped closer.
Underneath the writing, there were symbols.
Same as the ones from the journal.
Same as the ones from the Petra photos.
---
Footsteps behind me.
I turned—
No one.
The statue had moved.
I swear it had moved.
Its shadow stretched now.
Toward me.
---
I backed away. The pendant in my pocket burned cold now, like ice.
Then, behind me—
> Snap.
A tree branch.
Not mine.
Not alone.
I didn't look back this time. I ran again.
---
When I finally reached my room, my hands were bleeding.
Dirt under my nails.
Mud on my shoes.
But the door was open.
Light on.
My laptop screen glowed.
A new folder.
"WATCH ME"
No sender. No source. Just… there.
Inside:
A photo.
Of the statue.
But in this one, it had no face.
Just a mirror.
And in the mirror—
Me.
But not me.
A version of me with eyes I didn't recognize.
Dark. Wide. Wrong.
---
I slammed the laptop shut.
I wasn't tired, but I collapsed anyway.
In my dream…
I was in Petra.
But it was night.
Empty.
Except for the whisper again.
Closer now.
> "Not the first time."
Then—
A man. Hooded. Holding a knife.
He lifted it—
Not toward me—
But toward a child.
The child was me.
---
I woke up screaming.
But no sound came out.
Just breath.
And a single word, written on my ceiling in dust:
"QUIET."
---
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