Cass left work late.
It wasn't that he had much to do—if anything, he had spent more time staring blankly at his screen than actually working—but he had needed time. Time to shake the feeling that had clung to him all day.
The walk home should have helped.
But it didn't.
The city felt wrong.
Not in any obvious way. The streets were still full of people, cars still honked impatiently at intersections, the neon lights of storefronts still buzzed as they flickered on for the evening rush.
But something about the rhythm of it all felt… off.
It was too synchronized.
Too perfect.
Like a movie scene playing on a loop, running through the same motions over and over.
Cass stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and walked faster, trying to ignore the way his skin prickled with unease. He just needed to get home, get inside, shake this feeling.
He turned onto Oakridge Street.
And stopped.
The street wasn't there.
Cass blinked, his breath hitching in his throat.
He knew Oakridge. He walked this way every single day. It was supposed to lead straight down past the old bookstore, past the apartments with the wrought-iron balconies, past the—
But none of it was there.
In its place was an empty lot.
A vast, silent space of cracked pavement and half-buried debris.
His pulse slammed against his ribs.
No. That wasn't possible. He had just walked this way this morning. The bookstore had been open. The café on the corner had been serving breakfast. There had been people here.
Cass turned his head, scanning the sidewalk.
No one else reacted.
Pedestrians walked by without hesitation, cutting through the lot as if it had always been there. A man on his phone strolled past him, stepping onto the pavement where the bookstore should have been. A woman pushed a stroller over the cracks in the sidewalk where a café entrance should have been.
No one hesitated.
No one looked confused.
No one stopped.
Cass's mouth went dry.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't right.
He turned to an older woman passing by, his voice hoarse. "Excuse me, do you know what happened here?"
She blinked up at him. "Pardon?"
"This street. Oakridge. There was—" His throat tightened. "There was a bookstore here. A café. Apartment buildings. Just this morning."
The woman frowned. "What are you talking about? There's never been a street here."
Cass's stomach dropped.
No. No, that wasn't—
He turned to a younger man walking past. "Hey—do you remember the bookstore here?"
The man shot him a weird look. "Bookstore?" He shook his head. "This lot's been empty for years, man."
Cass stared at him.
"No, that's not—" He turned, pointing to the spot where the café should have been. "There was a coffee shop right there. I've been coming here for years. I know what was here."
The man took a cautious step back. "Alright, dude. Whatever you say." He walked off without another word.
Cass's hands were shaking.
This didn't make sense.
This wasn't possible.
He dug his phone out of his pocket, fingers clumsy, and pulled up the map app. He typed in Oakridge Street—
Nothing.
It wasn't listed.
Cass swallowed hard and tried again. Oakridge Books.
No results.
Seventh Street Café.
No results.
He stood there, breathing hard, staring at the empty lot where an entire street had been this morning.
Something was happening.
Something was wrong.
And no one else seemed to notice.
Cass made it home, but the walk felt longer than usual.
By the time he reached his front door, his legs were stiff, his mind running in endless circles. Maybe there was an explanation. Maybe construction had wiped the street from maps. Maybe he had somehow confused the location in his own mind.
Maybe.
Or maybe he was losing his mind.
Cass inhaled sharply, running a hand down his face before unlocking the door and stepping inside.
Warmth greeted him. The distant hum of the television, the smell of dinner cooking, the familiar sounds of his wife and kids moving through the house.
Safe.
Normal.
And yet, standing there in the doorway, Cass had never felt more separate from it.
As if he was an outsider in his own life.
"Babe?" His wife's voice called from the kitchen. "That you?"
Cass swallowed hard and forced himself to respond. "Yeah. I'm home."
"Dinner's almost ready," she said. "Go wash up."
He nodded, though she couldn't see him.
His fingers were still trembling as he slipped off his jacket.
Still cold as he walked past the mirror in the hallway.
Still ice in his veins as, for just a split second, his reflection didn't follow him.
Cass didn't sleep well.
He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the same three moments over and over.
The missing street.
The empty lot.
The way the world had moved on as if it had never existed.
He had gone back to his phone before bed, searching old photos, looking for any proof that Oakridge Street had ever been there.
Nothing.
No old receipts from the café. No saved maps of the route. No evidence that he had ever stepped foot in that bookstore.
It had been wiped clean.
Like it had never existed.
Cass turned his head, staring at the shadows stretching across the ceiling.
He wasn't crazy.
He knew what he had seen.
The world was shifting beneath his feet.
And he was the only one who seemed to notice.
End of Chapter 3