Zach's head snapped up, his tired eyes narrowing into a glare.
"You know what, Tia?"
"You're right," he admitted, his voice heavy with resignation. "Yes, I intended to kill him after he woke up."
The words hit Danny like a dagger, his breath catching in his throat.
'No… this can't be true…'
"There's a lot Danny can't do," Zach continued, his voice hardening. "He's not ready for this world, and maybe he never will be."
Tia leaned back, crossing her arms. "You don't have to convince me," she said coldly.
Danny staggered back from the door, his mind reeling.
'This isn't real. This can't be real!'
The betrayal clawed at him, raw and unrelenting.
He stumbled down the hallway, his form ghostly, his cries silent except for the echo of his despair in his mind.
No tears came—his incorporeal body wouldn't allow it—but the agony was overwhelming.
Then, a sudden ting! rang out, sharp and clear.
Danny spun around, his eyes locking onto the source of the sound: the hallway clock.
The minute hand ticked forward, marking 7 o'clock in the evening. He stared at it, transfixed, as two more sharp tings echoed in quick succession.
And then, the world tilted violently.
Danny felt a jolt, like being yanked through space, and the hallway dissolved around him.
In an instant, he was back in his room, standing at the desk. His hands trembled as he stared at the white sphere glowing faintly in his palm.
The other three spheres—green, blue, and gray—rested on the table before him, their surfaces dull and lifeless.
Crack.
The sound was subtle but unmistakable. Danny's gaze darted back to the white sphere.
A fresh fracture had appeared, jagged and thin, slicing through its surface like a wound.
His breathing was shallow, his mind spinning with the memory of what he had just witnessed—or had he imagined it?
Danny's fingers tightened around the sphere as he whispered, "What's happening to me?"
...
Danny burst out of his room, his breath sharp and uneven, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His eyes darted to the hallway clock. 6:55.
"What the hell is happening?" he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.
The corridor stretched before him, eerily quiet, the dim lighting casting long shadows along the cracked walls.
No one was there—no movement, no sound. Just an oppressive, suffocating stillness.
He let out a shaky sigh, trying to steady himself.
"I must be losing my mind," he murmured, running a hand through his damp hair. The events of the past few minutes played on a loop in his head, their surreal edges blurring reality.
Then he heard it—the faint, deliberate sound of footsteps.
Danny froze, his body stiffening as a chill coursed through him. The soft creak of the stairs echoed down the hallway, growing louder with each step. Slowly, he turned his gaze toward the staircase.
Soon, a figure emerged from the shadows.
'Tia.'
Her slim frame was unmistakable, her knife glinting faintly at her waist.
Danny's breath hitched as he pressed himself against the wall, sweat beading on his forehead.
Tia reached the top of the stairs and turned toward Zach's room.
She didn't glance in Danny's direction, her focus entirely on the door ahead.
From his vantage point near the edge of the hallway, Danny could see her back clearly as she approached the room.
His stomach twisted as a memory flickered through his mind—the words he had overheard, the venom in her tone, the cold finality in Zach's voice.
Sweat dripped down his temple as he watched her enter Zach's room. His instincts screamed at him to stay hidden, to let this moment pass, but curiosity—no, terror—drove him forward.
He crept toward Zach's door, his movements silent and deliberate.
Peering through the narrow gap, he saw them. Tia had seated herself on the sofa, her posture relaxed but her presence charged with tension. Zach leaned back on the opposite sofa, his exhaustion visible in the slump of his shoulders.
Danny's chest tightened as he recognized the scene. It was exactly as he had witnessed before—every movement, every detail. He swallowed hard, his throat dry.
'It's happening again.'
Then Tia's voice broke the silence.
"You know Danny's a problem, right?"
"Tia… please, just get out,"
"Matilda is dead because of him, Zach! He's weak—he's always been weak! How long are you going to keep babysitting him?"
"He's just a child,"
"Don't give me that crap! You were thrice the person he is at his age, and even I'm stronger than him! How long are you going to let him drag us all down?"
Danny stood still outside, as the same scene repeated before him.
"You intended to kill him, didn't you? Right after he woke up?"
"You know what, Tia? You're right,"
"Yes, I intended to kill him after he woke up."
'No… this can't be true…'
"There's a lot Danny can't do,"
"He's not ready for this world, and maybe he never will be."
"You don't have to convince me,"
Danny's heart ached as the same words reached his ears once more. The cycle was repeating, the weight of it crushing his spirit.
He felt the sting of tears welling up in his eyes, but with a shaky hand, he wiped them away, refusing to let himself break.
'Not here. Not now.'
Then Zach's voice cut through the air, low and filled with a conflicted intensity:
"But no matter how weak he is, he is still my brother."
The words hit Danny like a blow to the chest. His breath caught, his legs trembling beneath him.
For a moment, his emotions warred—relief, confusion, and pain all swirling in a chaotic storm.
Then the clock chimed.
Ting.
Ting.
Ting.
The sound echoed down the hallway, marking the turn of the hour.
7 o'clock.