Neno’s breath hitched as the figure in the corner unfurled. Its limbs—too long, too thin—moved with slow, deliberate grace, as if savoring the moment. The ink that covered its flesh dripped onto the stone, but it made no sound. No breath. No footsteps. Just movement.

He ran.

The book slammed shut behind him as he lunged for the door, heart hammering. The room did not want him to leave. The door had been open when he entered. Now, it was nothing but a wall of stone. No seams. No cracks. No way out.

A voice slid into his thoughts, not spoken but written directly into his mind, like ink bleeding through paper.

"You should not have read."

He turned sharply, pressing himself against the wall. The figure loomed closer. It did not walk. It unfolded. Its head tilted, its mouth stretching wider—wider still—until it was not a mouth at all, but an absence, a space where something had been erased.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Neno clenched his fists. No weapons. No plan. No way out. The walls trembled, the stone groaning as if the entire room was taking a breath. The shelves splintered, the floor cracked, and suddenly, everything lurched.

The city moved.

The floor beneath him tilted violently. Neno staggered forward as the stone that had been the door cracked apart, splitting wide to reveal a street that had not been there before. He didn’t hesitate. He ran.

He never looked back, but he knew the thing in the room was not chasing him. It was waiting. And as he stumbled into the open air, the doorway sealed itself once more, vanishing into unbroken stone. As if it had never existed.

The city was different now.

The buildings pressed closer together, their spires leaning inward, their windows hollow and watching. The air felt heavier, thick with the scent of ink and rain. Beneath his feet, the stone pavement whispered.

"Do you understand now?"

His hands trembled as he looked at the crumpled page still clutched in his fingers. The ink had moved again. New words had formed.

"The city does not let go. It only shifts the cage."

His throat tightened. The realization pressed into his skull, more terrifying than the shifting streets or the horrors lurking in the dark.

What if there was no escape?

The ink pulsed, forming one last message.

"You are inside the story now."