Don leaned over the book, its blank pages waiting, almost daring him to act. The initial rush from testing it on Marcus had subsided, replaced by a need to understand. This wasn't a tool to use recklessly—no, it was a weapon, one that demanded precision.
He thought back to Marcus, to the way his aggression had evaporated. The command had been simple and direct: "Forget the fight and walk away." It had worked flawlessly, almost too perfectly. Was that the key?
Don picked up his pen, his fingers brushing the smooth surface of the book's cover. The voice of Adrian echoed faintly in his mind, like a shadow lurking just out of reach.
"Write, Don. The answers come only to those who dare."
His lips curled into a faint smirk. "Fine," he muttered. "Let's see how clear I need to be."
---
For his first test, he decided to start small. He thought of Sarah, the girl two seats down from him in class. She was quiet, unassuming, and completely uninterested in him—a perfect subject for experimentation.
He wrote: "Sarah will look at me during class tomorrow."
The ink vanished, as it always did, sinking into the page like water absorbed by a sponge. Don closed the book and leaned back, satisfied.
The next day, he sat in his usual spot at the back of the classroom, his eyes fixed on Sarah. Minutes passed. She didn't even glance his way.
Frustrated, Don waited until the class ended, then hurried back to his apartment. He opened the book again and stared at its blank pages.
"What went wrong?" he demanded aloud.
Adrian's voice came, soft but edged with amusement. "You ask too little. Clarity, Don. The book obeys your words, not your intentions. Speak clearly, or the power will elude you."
Don scowled, realizing his mistake. He'd assumed the book would understand his intent, but it had taken his words at face value. Fine. If clarity was the rule, he'd adapt.
The next evening, Don tried again. This time, he wrote:
"During tomorrow's class, Sarah will turn to face me, make eye contact, and smile."
The ink disappeared, leaving the page blank once more.
When class began the next day, Don's heart raced as he watched Sarah. She took her usual seat, opened her notebook, and began writing.
Then, as if prompted by an unseen force, she stopped, turned, and looked directly at him. Their eyes met, and she smiled—briefly, almost awkwardly—before turning back to her notes.
Don's breath caught. It had worked.
Back in his apartment, he opened the book again, excitement coursing through him. "It's all about being specific," he said, more to himself than to Adrian.
Adrian's voice, soft and knowing, responded: "Clarity is power. But do not confuse clarity with safety, Don. The sharper the command, the deeper the cut."
Don ignored the warning. He felt invincible, his mind racing with possibilities.
He decided to push further. This time, he chose Nina, the outspoken classmate who rarely gave him the time of day. She was popular, confident, and utterly uninterested in anyone like him—a challenge he couldn't resist.
He wrote: "Nina will compliment my answer during tomorrow's discussion."
The ink faded, and Don closed the book with a smug grin.
The following day, as the professor posed a question, Don raised his hand and gave an answer. It wasn't particularly insightful, but it didn't matter. As soon as he finished speaking, Nina turned to him and said, "That's actually a really good point."
The words were casual, but the effect was profound. Heads turned toward him, and the professor nodded approvingly. Don basked in the attention, a thrill running through him.
But as the class continued, he noticed something odd. Nina glanced at him a few more times, her brow furrowed slightly, as though she couldn't quite place why she'd spoken up.
By the end of the day, she was avoiding his gaze entirely.
---
Back home, Don opened the book, eager to continue. But before he could write, Adrian's voice spoke, sharper this time: "Careful, Don. Clarity brings results, but results bring consequences. What do you think Nina feels now?"
Don paused, considering. Nina's compliment had seemed genuine at the moment, but her discomfort afterward suggested otherwise. The book's power had forced her to act against her will, and she'd felt it.
He leaned back, staring at the empty page. Clarity was essential, yes, but it was a double-edged sword. The clearer his commands, the more unnatural the results could feel.
Still, he couldn't stop now. He wouldn't stop. The power was too addictive, too tantalizing.
"Next time," he muttered, "I'll be even more careful."
Adrian's laughter echoed faintly, a sound both mocking and approving.
"Oh, Don, you're learning so quickly. But the game has just begun."