Ch. 9

  The phone rings.

  And rings.

  And rings.

  Carmen grips the ID with one hand, the flash drive with the other. His clothes are still damp with sweat, lungs tight like he really had drowned and was only now surfacing.

  The phone keeps ringing.

  He wipes his palm against his jeans. His body is here, in his house, standing in the middle of his room. But his mind is still in the dream. Cinna was there. Watching. Writing. Taking notes.

  How long had she been watching?

  The ringing stops.

  For a moment, there's silence—no greeting, no breath, just the feeling of someone on the other end.

  Then—

  "Tch—hold on a second."

  Muffled movement. The sound of papers shifting. A faint click, like a pen being set down. Then, a breath, as if she had just adjusted herself in her seat.

  Then, finally, her voice.

  "You must be Carmen Blantorche."

  Carmen grips the phone tighter. "Who the hell are you?"

  "The person you've been trying to reach. Though, I have to admit, you're earlier than I expected."

  Her tone is light, almost amused, but Carmen doesn't trust it. There's something in the way she speaks—like someone who got interrupted. Like someone in the middle of something important.

  "You sound busy," he notes.

  "I'm always busy."

  "Doing what?"

  "Taking notes."

  A chill spreads down his back.

  "On what?"

  "Things worth recording."

  Her voice is measured, casual, like she doesn't expect him to push further.

  Carmen doesn't like that.

  "You don't sound surprised to hear from me," he says.

  "Why would I be?"

  "Because I wasn't supposed to find you."

  A soft chuckle. "That's where you're wrong."

  The line crackles slightly, and for a second, Carmen swears he hears the faintest hint of... music? No, more like a hum—something quiet, something calculated.

  "You found me because I left you the path to do so," Cinna continues. "It's funny, really. You think you're the one chasing answers, but hey—"

  There's a pause. Then, as if she's pressing a blade into his thoughts:

  "Who put the questions in your head to begin with?"

  Carmen's breath stills.

  A long silence stretches between them before she speaks again, light and teasing but somehow heavier than before.

  "Meet me at the lake. You know the one."

  Then the call ends.

  Cleansing the Dream

  Carmen stares at the screen for a while, his fingers still clenched around the phone. A dull ringing sits in his ears—not from the call, but from something deeper. Something unsettled.

  The conversation replays in his mind, looping like a track stuck on repeat. The weight of her words lingers, heavy and pressing, like hands against his shoulders.

  He needs to shake this off.

  Without thinking, he moves to the bathroom. The mirror reflects back a pale, exhausted version of himself—skin still clammy, dark strands of hair sticking to his forehead.

  He turns on the shower.

  Steam rises as he steps under the water, letting the heat strip away the cold that had settled into his bones. He presses his palms against the tiles, letting the water rush over him, trying to scrub away the feeling of being read.

  Cinna's voice still clings to his thoughts. The way she had sounded—like she was in the middle of something. Like he had interrupted her writing about him.

  He exhales sharply, pushing his wet hair back. It doesn't matter. What matters is that he's meeting her.

  And she's going to give him answers.

  By the time he steps out, steam curls around the room like ghostly fingers. He dries off quickly, pulling on a simple black sweater and jeans. Nothing flashy. Just comfortable. His fingers hesitate over the ID still sitting on his desk, the flash drive, then move past it to grab his bag.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Right now, he has somewhere to be.

  Carmen steps out of his house, the door clicking shut behind him. The air is crisp, carrying the lingering scent of rain from the night before, but beneath it—something sweeter. His fingers brush against his pocket, where Cinna's ID and flash drive should be. He exhales, shoulders tense.

  The walk to the lake is quiet, but not the comforting kind. It's the type that makes his own footsteps sound too loud, the type that makes him feel like the silence isn't empty, but watching. By the time the lake comes into view, the feeling hasn't left. If anything, it's waiting for him.

  The Lake

  Carmen sits by the water's edge, flipping through a book, but his mind is a thousand miles away. The words blur in and out of focus. He picked something at random from his shelf before leaving—a book that shouldn't mean anything, but now? Now he can't shake the feeling that every word is placed. Like a script. Like a trap.

  A breeze rolls through the trees. Then, the faintest scent of raspberries.

  He doesn't look up immediately. Instead, he flips another page, as if unaffected.

  "That book suits you," a voice says.

  He finally looks up.

  Cinna Aveyard stands there, hands in her pockets, head tilted slightly as if examining him. She's petite but poised, her presence demanding attention without effort. She wears a white turtleneck and a dark pleated skirt, her black hair tipped white at the ends like frost catching on midnight.

  And the scent—raspberries. So familiar it makes his stomach twist.

  "You made me wait," Carmen says.

  "Patience is a virtue."

  "And you don't strike me as virtuous."

  A small smile. "Good. That means you're learning."

  She gestures for him to walk with her. He hesitates, then follows.

  As they walk, he realizes—he's still holding the ID. His fingers brush over the text, feeling the indent of her name: Cinna Aveyard.

  But something else is missing.

  The flash drive.

  His chest tightens. When did he—? How did he—?

  He had it. He knew he had it. It was right there.

  Carmen's steps slow, his fingers curling around the ID as if it might slip from his grasp next.

  Cinna doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe she does, and she just doesn't care.

  "Something wrong?" she asks without looking at him.

  He stares at her. His mind races, trying to retrace his own actions.

  And yet.

  The flash drive is gone.

  And the worst part?

  He can't remember when he lost it.

  The lake's surface ripples, distorting their reflections as Carmen follows Cinna along the worn dirt path. The scent of raspberries lingers in the air, mingling with the damp earth and pine.

  They walk in silence at first, the only sounds being the occasional snap of a twig beneath their feet and the distant rustling of wind through the trees. Then, the terrain shifts—grass giving way to pavement, the quiet hum of nature replaced by an eerie stillness. The school looms ahead, its gates left ajar despite the ongoing investigation. No students. No security. Just the two of them, stepping into a place that should feel familiar but doesn't.

  The School—Conservatory of Fine Arts

  Even with the investigation, the school is eerily empty. No officers. Not even a janitor.

  Carmen slows his steps. "Why is no one here?"

  Cinna doesn't stop walking.

  "Cinna."

  She hums in acknowledgment but offers nothing.

  He stops entirely. "You're not going to answer, are you?"

  She turns to him, and for the first time, she really looks at him—eyes glinting with something unreadable.

  "Tell me something, Carmen."

  "What?"

  "Have you ever had a dream where everyone around you is just pretending to be real?"

  His fingers twitch. The memory of the lake reflections presses against his thoughts.

  Cinna's expression doesn't change, but there's something too still about her now.

  "Like you're the only one who knows?" she continues. "Like you're the only one who's actually awake?"

  Carmen swallows, throat dry. "...Is that what this is?"

  Cinna steps closer. Not threatening—just enough to push.

  "What if it was?"

  He clenches his jaw. "Then I'd want to wake up."

  She tilts her head. "Would you?"

  For a moment, neither of them move.

  Then, Carmen speaks. Slowly. Carefully. Testing her.

  "You remind me of someone I saw once."

  She raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

  "They were standing behind a one-way mirror."

  A pause. He watches her reaction closely. But Cinna just smiles.

  "And what did they see?"

  "Me." He meets her gaze. "Like I was a character in their book."

  For the first time, Cinna says nothing.

  The School Library—A Step Further

  They walk through the dimly lit aisles, Carmen feeling the walls close in as if the school itself is pressing against him.

  "You're avoiding something," he says finally.

  "And you're expecting a straight answer."

  "Would it kill you to give me one?"

  "It might."

  Carmen stops walking. "Cinna."

  She keeps going.

  He exhales sharply, forcing himself to move again. "Why are you helping me?"

  "Helping? Would you believe me if I said I liked you?"

  He scowls. "No..."

  "Good."

  They stepped into the library, the stillness inside untouched by the chaos outside. Carmen hadn't questioned why they came here instead of the public library—maybe because it felt natural, maybe because he was too busy trying to read Cinna. His school's archives held information he wouldn't find anywhere else, restricted books that even the internet barely touched. Maybe that was why she led him here. Maybe.

  Cinna walked ahead like she had a purpose, gliding past the rows of bookshelves before heading straight for the stairs. She didn't even glance at the computers. Fourth floor.

  Carmen followed. He didn't ask why.

  They reached the top, the air heavier, the silence stretching. Cinna moved between the shelves like she was looking for something—until she wasn't. Until she just... stopped.

  "Hm. Guess it's not here after all," she said, turning back toward the stairs as if they hadn't just climbed four floors for this.

  Carmen frowned. "What were we even looking for?"

  She smiled, already walking ahead.

  They descended back to the first floor. Carmen didn't know why, but something about it felt deliberate. A loop with no meaning. Like she'd led him in a circle just to see if he would follow.

  And that's when he sees it.

  A massive birch tree. Tall. Beautiful. Its branches stretch wide, the leaves catching the light just enough to shimmer.

  Beneath it, someone, a girl.

  She's reading a book.

  The same book Carmen was reading earlier.

  Cinna stops beside him, her expression unreadable.

  "You wanted to meet Omega, didn't you?"

  Carmen doesn't answer.

  He can't.

  Because suddenly, it feels like all of this—every step, every choice, every word—was already written.

  The Birch Tree

  The park is empty. No kids. No joggers. Just wind weaving through the grass, shifting the leaves of the massive birch tree at the center.

  And under it—

  A girl sits, hunched slightly over a book.

  She wears round glasses, her dark hair pulled into a loose, messy bun, strands falling over her hollow, mirror-like eyes. She doesn't look up as they approach. Instead, she turns a page, her fingers barely brushing the edge.

  Carmen stops in his tracks.

  Not because of the book. Not because of the glasses. Not even because the moment feels too precise, too placed.

  But because of what's in her other hand.

  A flash drive.

  His flash drive.

  She twirls it between her fingers absentmindedly, like a coin, like a habit.

  Carmen's pulse slams against his ribs. But there it is. Spinning, flicking, twisting in her fingers as if it had always belonged there.

  Cinna watches Carmen's reaction carefully. Then, for the first time since they met—

  Cinna smiles.

  "Do you know her, Carmen?"

  "She's Elena Tanika."