“That’s a lot, Lucky Kid. Now, how do we start a fire again?”

The cold gnawed at my fingers as I crouched low, gripping two dry branches. Their rough bark scraped my palms as I pressed them together, trying to spark a flame by rubbing them back and forth.

It felt clumsy, desperate even. The truth? I didn’t really know how to make a fire. My only knowledge came from a few survival books and videos where people made it look so easy—they just rubbed two sticks together until a spark ignited. But reality wasn't so kind.

The only light we had came from the weak beams of our phones’ flashlight apps, casting pale, flickering circles across the darkened floor. Their batteries were nearly dead, but for now, they gave us enough visibility to avoid tripping over debris. Shadows danced along the cracked walls, making the space feel colder and smaller. The night pressed in on us.

Still, the damp chill gnawed deeper. Our breaths came out in pale clouds. Fire was more than comfort—it was a necessity.

I kept rubbing the sticks, skin raw, arms aching. Nothing. Minutes passed, and there was still no warmth. No spark.

Finally, I slumped against the wall near the elevator, pressing my frozen hands to my knees in defeat. My chest tightened, humiliation settling heavy. Lucky Kid, curled up across from me, was doing a lousy job hiding his amusement. His smirk flickered under the dim light as he watched me fail spectacularly.

“Josh,” Chevonne said gently, cutting the tension. “I grabbed some things from the fifth floor. Maybe they’ll help.”

She knelt and set down the contents of her haul: a few crumbling sheets of paper, some rusty paper clips, and a broken Rubik’s cube.

I stared at them. My heart sank.

“How can these help us? What do you expect me to do? Make a bonfire out of paper clips?” My voice came out sharper than I intended, frustration bleeding through my embarrassment.

Chevonne stayed calm, her gaze steady. “This is all I could find. Most of the other stuff was either shattered or too heavy to carry down alone. Let’s figure something out together.”

We knelt around the pitiful pile of scraps as if staring long enough might reveal some hidden solution. The damp air pressed against my neck; it was the kind of cold that made you feel hollow.

Lucky Kid, oblivious to the tension, snatched a dry twig and began rubbing it on the paper. Then, the Rubik’s cube. Then, a paperclip.

“What are you doing?” I snapped.

“Trying to make fire,” he mumbled, teeth chattering as he worked.

“With a Rubik’s cube? Seriously?”

“Maybe it’ll work,” he muttered stubbornly. “You never know.”

I rolled my eyes. “That’s what you get for not paying attention in Science class. Aren’t you embarrassed in front of teacher Chevonne? If this worked, she’d have already done it.”

Chevonne raised an eyebrow at me but didn’t interrupt. Lucky Kid scowled.

“Well, what else can we do?” his voice cracked with frustration. “It’s freezing, and we need heat now!”

He wasn’t wrong. The icy air had our teeth chattering, our hands trembling. But it didn’t make his twig-and-paper-clip experiment any less ridiculous.

I stared at the sad pile of junk again. The crumpled paper. The Rubik’s cube. Paper clips.

Then, something clicked.

“Chevonne,” I said, rising to my feet. “Keep an eye on Lucky Kid. I’m going upstairs. I need to check something.”

“Are you sure? Be careful up there. It’s dark and… scary.”

Her voice wavered slightly, barely above a whisper. The way her eyes flicked toward the shadows pressing in around us reminded me of how tense she’d been earlier—ever since we heard that chilling cry in the woods.

I straightened, trying to mask the tightness in my chest. “Don’t take me for a kid who gets scared of the dark that easily.”

But even as I said it, the memory of how I froze back then clawed at me. I had to prove I wasn’t weak—not to her, not to myself.

I turned away and made for the fire exit, choosing it over the crumbling main staircase. The whole structure had felt unstable the last time I used it, creaking underfoot like it might give way entirely. I didn’t trust it. Who knew if the next step would be my last?

The stairwell felt colder the higher I climbed. My footsteps echoed louder than they should have, each step a hollow clap against the concrete. The darkness stretched deeper than before, thick and oppressive, the pale glow from my phone barely enough to cut through it.

By the time I reached the fifth floor, the silence felt alive.

The lobbies were a hundred times scarier than they’d been just hours earlier. The scattered chairs and upturned desks seemed positioned deliberately, like some forgotten crime scene. Each classroom door loomed half-open, and the deeper shadows inside twisted into impossible shapes.

I felt watched.

Every glance toward those yawning doorways sent my pulse racing, the shadows almost moving—stretching—like figures straight out of the horror movies I used to binge on Netflix. My mind played tricks, painting outlines of pale faces and hollow eyes peering out from the void.

I forced my legs to move faster, my shoes scuffing noisily as I trudged down the hall, deliberately making more sound just to drown out the silence pressing in around me. The urge to run clawed at my chest, but I clenched my teeth. No, I had to do this. For Chevonne. For Finlay.

Survival came first. Fear could wait.

The faculty office was near the far end. I yanked open the door, its rusty hinges screaming loud enough to make me flinch.

Using my phone’s flickering screen light, I hurried to the desk—my desk. Dust had gathered thickly, coating the papers and pens I’d left behind.

I dropped to my knees and yanked open the drawer beneath it, the wood sticking slightly as if resisting me. My fingers fumbled through the contents, brushing past old lesson plans, receipts, and forgotten scraps of paper.

Then, my hand found something brittle and soft.

Cigarette packs. Rotten. Crumbling.

And beneath them was a small rectangular object, smooth and parakeet-green.

A lighter.

I exhaled, clutching it tightly as relief washed over me.

The Rubik’s cube caught my eye next, half-buried among the clutter. It wasn’t mine. I knew that cube.

It had once belonged to Rex. I’d confiscated it during one of my classes after he kept fiddling with it instead of paying attention. He had always been too relaxed when I was teaching, treating my lessons like background noise, convinced he could coast by.

I’d taken more than just the Rubik’s cube from him over the months—snatching distractions during classes, even at his house during the rare times I visited. Including this lighter.

At least, this one bad habit might actually save us now.

Without wasting another second, I shoved it into my pocket and dashed back to the fire exit, forcing myself not to glance at the darkened rooms I passed.

Finally, a fire roared to life, crackling bright and fierce in the cold.

The flames danced wildly, pushing back the shadows as warmth slowly returned to the area. Lucky Kid curled up beside it, his face bathed in the flickering orange light. He had drifted off almost immediately, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

Well, he was still a kid. The exhaustion must have caught up with him. It had been a long, brutal day.

Earlier, before nightfall, we’d managed to gather some fruits—apples, oranges, and strange purple ones none of us recognized. Oddly enough, some didn’t even belong here in Bantayan. A few had been so large and heavy we had to leave them behind, like the cocohair fruits. I didn’t care what they were anymore; we were starving, and they were edible.

And there was the stream. Clean water. At least, it seemed clean enough when thirst gnawed at us harder than caution.

I wondered how long we’d have to keep surviving like this.

Would someone find us soon?

Chevonne sat alone on a moss-covered slab of stone near the fire, staring into the flames. She nibbled on an apple, her face calm yet distant, lost somewhere far beyond this island.

Even after our argument earlier, she still seemed… calm. Whole. The way the firelight danced on her features made my stomach twist with guilt.

I forced myself to sit beside her. Close, but not too close.

The woody scent of burning branches filled the air as I drew a shaky breath.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured, my voice barely above the crackle of the fire, “for what I said back on the rooftop. I was just—”

“It’s okay,” she cut me off gently, her tone softer than I expected. “I understand.”

Maybe she had been expecting my apology all along.

“Um…” I searched for words, desperate to shift the conversation and rebuild the trust I felt cracking between us. “How can Lucky Kid sleep so soundly… with everything going on? I wish I could do that.”

She smiled faintly, the firelight reflecting in her eyes. “Sometimes, being innocent makes you fearless. Though that kind of fearlessness can be scary in its own way.”

I nodded, glancing toward Lucky Kid’s peaceful face. The flames popped, sending tiny embers spiraling upward.

I hesitated then asked quietly, “And you? Don’t you think all of this feels… wrong?”

Chevonne turned to face me fully.

“I told you, Josh,” she said, her voice firm but not unkind. “In due time. If you’re trying to make me spill the beans, you better stop.”

“No, it’s just th—” I broke off, shaking my head. “Again, I’m sorry. I just... I just find everything here so surreal. It’s like I’m dreaming.”

Chevonne tilted her head slightly, her gaze lingering on the firelight reflecting off the damp stones around us. For a moment, it looked like she was searching for the right words. Then, she said, “I wonder if this is what dreaming really feels like. I’ve heard people say you can do anything in a dream since you’re supposed to control it, right?”

“That’s a half-truth, I think,” I replied thoughtfully. “I mean, I can sometimes control my dreams. But mostly? They’re random. Weird. If dreams were always perfect, I’d probably sleep all day long just to stay in them. Who wouldn’t want that kind of escape?”

Chevonne shook her head, a small smile forming as she hugged her knees closer to her chest. “But wouldn’t living a predictable life get boring? I think it’s more meaningful when you don’t know what’ll happen next. It’s like... cooking dinner. You won’t know how it’ll turn out until you’ve actually tasted it.”

I blinked, trying to process what she had just compared life to. Of all things, it was cooking. A laugh escaped me before I could stop it. “So, you’re saying life’s like... questionable cooking? Are you trying to tell me you’re bad at it?”

Her cheeks flushed a soft pink. The firelight made it even more noticeable. She quickly averted her gaze, scowling playfully. “Hey, that’s rude! Well, fine, yes... I’m not great at it. But it’s no laughing matter. I’ve been practicing, you know. One day, I’ll get better.”

She looked so earnest and determined despite the embarrassment that I couldn’t help but chuckle again. “Sorry, sorry. I just couldn’t help it.” My grin lingered before my next words slipped out—too bold, too unfiltered. “How about you cook for me once we get back home?”

The moment the words left my mouth, heat crawled up my neck.

Chevonne blinked, then she narrowed her eyes at me, her expression hardening into an icy stare so intense it could have frozen the flames between us.

I swallowed, already preparing to backpedal, but then she... sighed.

Her shoulders relaxed as she dropped her gaze back to the fire, and for a heartbeat, I thought I saw the corner of her lips twitch.

“Fine,” she said, her voice softer this time. “Once we get back home, I’ll cook for you.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Yeah... Once we get back home.”

The words lingered in the cold air as if we were both clinging to the promise they held.

A fragile silence settled between us, broken only by the fire’s steady crackling and the occasional whisper of wind rustling through the trees beyond the broken walls. Sparks danced upward, glowing embers drifting into the star-speckled sky above.

I wanted to freeze this moment—the calm, the peace, and just the two of us sitting here together under the heavens.

But reality pressed in too heavily.

I shifted, staring deeper into the flames as thoughts I’d been burying finally surfaced. The quiet had a way of forcing honesty out of me.

“You know...” I began, my voice softer now, “I’ve been thinking about my power lately.”

Her gaze lifted from the fire, curious. “Your power?”

I nodded, hesitant but unable to hold back anymore. “Yeah... I keep wondering if it’s really real, or if I’ve just imagined it all. But after everything we’ve been through—the seaquake, getting stranded here—” I gestured vaguely at the island around us. “It makes me think... What if it is possible? I mean, if this isn’t a dream, then maybe my power isn’t either, right?”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Chevonne didn’t answer right away. She just watched me as though weighing her words carefully.

“You might be right,” she said finally, but there was a careful neutrality to her voice, like she didn’t want to push too far.

I met her eyes. “What do you think? Do you believe it’s real?”

A beat passed. The fire popped loudly, and she still held back.

“I don’t know,” she admitted at last, her voice quieter now. Then, as if an idea struck, she added, “Why don’t you try it again? Right now. Think about something you really want to happen.”

I blinked. “Here? Now?”

She nodded, her gaze steady.

For a woman like her, I would do anything she asked.

Without another word, I stood, brushing dirt from my palms as I squared my stance.

I closed my eyes. The darkness behind my eyelids felt heavier than before, pressing inward like the weight of the night itself. My fists clenched at my sides as I focused—harder than I ever had before—letting my mind center on a single, clear desire.

Something simple.

Something impossible.

The fire crackled louder.

I took a deep breath, and for a heartbeat, I believed.

I imagined her kissing me—right here, right now.

I held onto the thought, feeling the tension coil tighter in my chest. Seconds passed. My heart hammered.

Gradually, I opened one eye just a sliver, hoping for some impossible sign that my so-called power had worked.

But there she was, still sitting on the moss-covered slab of stone, staring at me with a mix of curiosity and... expectation?

Of course, nothing happened.

I exhaled sharply, deflated, and sank back onto a brittle pile of dried twigs, ready to admit defeat and tell her it had failed. I didn’t even get the words out before she jolted to her feet.

Her sudden movement made me flinch.

Blushing, cheeks as red as the fire’s glow, she crossed the short distance between us.

She knelt beside me, placing both hands carefully on the twigs and branches at my sides, closing the space between us.

The world shrank. The fire, the rustling leaves, even the cold seemed to dissolve into the background as she leaned closer.

Her breath brushed my face, warm and shallow, her eyes hooded with an intensity I hadn’t seen before.

What was happening?

Was this—?

I liked her. God, I liked her. But this… This was sudden. Too sudden.

My pulse raced as she leaned in further, her face mere inches from mine. The heat from her breath sent shivers down my spine.

I should’ve been thrilled. I should’ve been ready. But instead, I tensed, recoiling slightly, unsure if this was really happening or if my imagination was spiraling out of control.

And then, just when our lips were dangerously close, she froze.

Blinking rapidly, her expression shifted from dreamy to... confused? It was like she’d just woken from a trance.

Her gaze snapped toward the shadows surrounding us, scanning the darkness beyond the campfire. She backed away, dazed, pressing a hand to her forehead as if trying to piece something together.

What was that?

Then, she turned abruptly toward Lucky Kid; he was still curled up nearby and fast asleep.

“Did you... Did you just save me?” she whispered to the kid, her voice trembling.

I blinked. “Save you? What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer. Lucky Kid remained motionless, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. If he had done anything, it certainly wasn’t obvious.

Chevonne returned to me, slower this time, her face pale with realization.

“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, the boldness from moments ago completely gone. “That... That might’ve been weird of me.”

Her voice sounded smaller now, like she was fighting off embarrassment.

“N-no! It’s—” My words caught. I ran a hand through my hair, searching for the right thing to say. “Actually, I—uh... I imagined something, too.”

She blinked, eyes narrowing slightly. “You... imagined what, exactly?”

Suddenly, the truth felt way too humiliating to admit.

I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I... I imagined a shooting star. Yeah. Thought maybe if my power worked, we’d see one right now.”

Her gaze drifted toward the starry sky where the constellations remained calm and undisturbed. Not a single shooting star passed.

“I guess I failed,” I added quietly, lowering my head. “Sorry if you were expecting something more dramatic.”

Chevonne shook her head, forcing a smile, though her eyes didn’t quite match it. “No, it’s okay. I’m the one who should be sorry... for pressuring you. And... could you just... forget what almost happened earlier?”

Yeah.

As if I could ever forget that.

I could try—could shove the memory into a locked box in the furthest corner of my mind—but it would come back. It would keep resurfacing. Probably forever.

Because how could I forget the way she looked at me? Or the way my heart nearly exploded?

But... Had it worked? My power?

Or was it just coincidence?

The silence stretched on, awkward and heavy. Only the crackling fire filled the void.

I was about to break the tension and say anything that would ease the weight pressing on my chest when—

Thud.

The sound echoed from outside.

It was a deep, hollow impact, followed by another. Then another.

Louder.

Closer.

The ground vibrated beneath us as the rhythmic pounding intensified. It was as if something massive was moving toward our camp with unnatural speed.

Chevonne stiffened.

Lucky Kid jerked awake, his small frame trembling as he scrambled toward her, clutching her arm with wide, frightened eyes.

“Cher... What’s that?” he whispered, his voice quivering.

But there was something off about his fear. The way his hands shook felt exaggerated, like he was overacting a little.

Chevonne barely reacted. She didn’t hug him or soothe him. She just placed a steady hand on his shoulder, her voice oddly calm as she replied, “Don’t worry about it. Stay here with me.”

That was it. No fear. No urgency.

It was like she knew something.

And suddenly, something in me snapped.

I hadn’t done anything useful since we got stranded here. Hadn’t protected her or Lucky Kid from any real danger. Not once.

“Wait here,” I ordered, rising to my feet and clenching my fists. “I’ll check it out.”

Chevonne opened her mouth to protest, but I was already moving.

The pounding noise continued, louder now, echoing off the ruins around us.

I crossed the threshold of the crumbling entrance, scanning the darkness beyond the fire’s reach with my heart pounding. The air felt heavier, charged with something unnatural.

The sound stopped. Just like that.

The night stretched, quiet and still. But I could feel it. Something was out there watching us.

I struggled to piece together what was happening.

The thuds—deep, rhythmic—had to be footsteps. But if they were footsteps, then whatever was making them had to be enormous. No, not just enormous—gigantic. Colossal. Gargantuan. I cycled through every word I knew for big, but none of them felt quite right. None of them matched the sheer weight those sounds carried as if the earth itself groaned under their pressure.

The bones we found earlier flashed in my mind—bleached, broken remains scattered in the ruins.

What kind of predator left those behind?

I pressed my back against a crumbling support post, steadying my breathing as I peeked through a gaping hole in the damaged wall.

The damp, earthy scent of moss hit my nose. It was sharp and almost bitter. Or was it moss? There was something else mixed in, something raw and unfamiliar that I couldn’t name.

Beyond the torn wall, shadows layered over more shadows, but the faint moonlight and scattered starlight offered just enough glow to confirm one thing: It was gone.

Or at least, I thought it was.

I returned to the others, keeping my voice steady despite the way my pulse hammered. “I didn’t see anything. Whatever it was... It’s gone.”

Chevonne and Lucky Kid exhaled almost in sync, their bodies visibly relaxing. Lucky Kid sagged back against the mossy slab, his eyelids drooping.

Thud.

It was a single, distant impact. Fainter.

Thud... thud...

It was back.

And this time, it was inside the school grounds.

The sound reminded me of someone sneaking into a sibling’s room mid-prank—slow, deliberate steps trying not to wake anyone.

We exchanged tense glances. No words were needed.

Without hesitation, we scrambled to snuff out the fire. Mud and loose soil flew as we shoveled it onto the flames, stomping out the embers, silencing the crackling wood.

Darkness swallowed us whole.

We huddled together, pressing close. The air felt thicker and heavier with every breath.

I wasn’t proud to admit it, but when I clasped my hands together to pray, I wasn’t just asking for Chevonne’s safety—I prayed for Lucky Kid, too.

The thuds had stopped again.

There was silence once more. Only our ragged breaths filled the void.

Minutes passed. Then more.

No movement.

No sound.

Nothing.

But the cold settled in, seeping through our damp clothes and into our bones. My jaw trembled with the chill. I’d never experienced a night this bitter.

“We need to find shelter,” Chevonne whispered, her voice hushed but firm.

I nodded, guiding them toward the stairwell.

We searched in near silence, fingers stiff as we rifled through the cluttered desks and cabinets on the fifth-floor faculty room, hoping for anything that could warm us—blankets, clothes, even just fabric to drape over our shoulders.

Finlay found a few odd items—a globe with half the continents faded, a broken desk lamp—but nothing practical for surviving the freezing night.

Chevonne, however, uncovered a small stash of confiscated lighters, likely taken from students over the years.

“Where’d you get those?” I whispered.

She pointed toward teacher Samuel’s desk, a drawer half-open with more scattered junk inside.

“Guess he didn’t trust his students much,” I muttered, forcing a smile I didn’t feel.

We gathered whatever burnable scraps we could find—random papers, old test sheets, some dried-up lesson planners—and formed a makeshift fire pile in the center of the room.

Chevonne knelt, flicking the wheel of one lighter. A flame sparked to life.

But then everything went black.

The firelight was the only thing left.

The moonlight vanished.

I knew it wasn’t clouds. The darkness wasn’t natural—it was thicker than night, smothering, pressing in from every side.

The floor trembled under me. Something massive was moving outside.

I stepped toward the window, my breath tight in my chest. The glass was pitch-black as if someone had dropped a tarp over it.

But it wasn’t a tarp.

I raised my phone, turning on the screen’s light.

And then—I dropped it.

The dim glow had revealed something so grotesque and impossible.

An eyeball.

A massive, unblinking eye filled the entire window frame, staring back at me.

The pale iris twitched, its black pupil jittering as if trying to focus. Blood vessels spread across its glossy surface, so detailed I could see the veins shift beneath the lens.

It was nearly twice my size.

The fire crackled louder, the flames suddenly licking higher as the lighter fell from Chevonne’s trembling hand and landed on the burnable pile.

The fire roared to life, illuminating the entire floor.

And the eye squinted, reacting to the light.

But it didn’t retreat.

It recovered.

It locked on to us.

We bolted down the fire exit, terror driving every step.

We barely made it to the fourth floor when the entire fifth floor ripped away from the building with a thunderous crack. The tremor shook the walls, and from above came the sound of collapsing rubble—walls caving in, steel screeching, glass shattering.

The entire structure felt like it was seconds from total collapse.

We raced faster, legs burning, hearts pounding, as another deafening whack sounded above us. Dust trickled down, the ceiling groaning. I was certain that the fourth floor had just been torn away, too.

Even as panic clawed at me, I risked a glance at Chevonne and Lucky Kid. Neither was crying. Neither even looked shocked.

Their faces were set, serious, and focused on survival.

I, however, felt one heartbeat away from losing it. I was the only one on the verge of pissing my pants.

When we hit the ground floor, Chevonne spun around and, without warning, grabbed Lucky Kid by the collar, yanking him off his feet.

“Chevonne! What—” I stammered, frozen in place.

Lucky Kid didn’t even struggle. He just averted his eyes, his face settling into something like... guilt? He wore a tight, awkward grimace, as if he’d been caught red-handed.

Chevonne’s grip tightened, her knuckles white. Her voice dropped, cold and dangerous. “I know who you really are.”

What?

“I was supposed to play along and pretend I didn’t know because you would have run if you realized. But I’m out of options. You’re the only one who can save us right now. If you don’t want to die, help us.”

The word “die” coming out of Chevonne’s mouth felt surreal.

I didn’t understand.

Chevonne, the same girl who had protected Lucky Kid at the shore, was now close to strangling him.

“Chevonne, stop! What are you—”

“Don’t interrupt, Josh.” Her voice sliced through me. She never even looked at me, her glare pinned entirely on Lucky Kid. “Stay where you are.”

This... This wasn’t the Chevonne I knew.

Another boom shook the building, and the roof caved partially above us. Moonlight poured in through the widening hole, but something massive blocked the light.

A shadow.

A silhouette.

It loomed high, impossibly tall, its shape vaguely humanoid. The faint outline of shoulders, arms, and a massive head confirmed my worst fear.

“Oh my God,” I breathed, my voice barely audible. “It’s a giant.”

The thing stood as tall as the building itself, its movements slow but deliberate. I couldn’t make out its details, but the way it moved sent shivers through me. It wasn’t just big—it was deliberate, terrifyingly alive.

“Do it now!” Chevonne’s voice rose, echoing off the ruined walls and startling me out of my daze.

Lucky Kid sighed, long and exaggerated, like a child bored with a chore. He tapped her hands.

“Let go,” he said calmly.

She did.

I thought she was making a mistake. What if Lucky Kid didn’t help? What if he ran or froze?

But I was wrong.

The boy I thought I knew vanished in an instant.

Lucky Kid lowered into a stance, his legs spread and firm, arms raised with open palms. His face was unrecognizable—serious, intense, and devoid of his usual childish mischief.

It was like watching a butterfly emerge from its cocoon, except the transformation wasn’t delicate. It was abrupt, powerful, and almost frightening.

Above us, the giant shifted, raising its enormous foot. Dust swirled upward, the force of the movement pulling air from my lungs.

“Oh, God,” I muttered, panic overtaking me as I prepared to grab Chevonne and Lucky Kid, hoping to drag them out of the stomp’s path.

Chevonne stopped me, placing a steady hand on my shoulder.

“Trust me,” she said softly. “We’ll be safe. Remember when I said you’d learn everything in due time? I didn’t think it would happen this soon.”

Before I could respond, a burst of amber light erupted from Lucky Kid’s temple, expanding outward in a radiant dome. It spread over the building’s perimeter, casting everything in a golden glow. The dome arched upward, encasing the giant within its boundary.

We stood inside a shimmering force field.

“What the—did he just—” My words stumbled out as my brain scrambled to comprehend.

Lucky Kid’s hands snapped shut as if grabbing something invisible.

The giant froze, its massive frame shuddering before it dissolved into a fine mist, scattering in the wind.

The only thing left of it was a single object that dropped to the ground with a sickening squelch, landing in a patch of grass north of us.

Curiosity overtook my fear, and I rushed toward it.

It was an eyeball.

I recoiled, kicking it aside and stumbling back, bile rising in my throat. I scrambled to my feet and hurried back to the others.

“What the fudge was that?” I gasped. “A freaking eyeball fell from its head! And who the hell are you, Lucky Kid? No, who are you, Finlay?”

Chevonne stepped between us, smirking. “He’s a silencer. That monster was a product of thought, and he erased it.”

“What are you even talking about?”

Chevonne sighed, her tone matter-of-fact, as if she were explaining basic math. “It’s too much to explain now. But Finlay’s a silencer. I’m a linker. And you, Josh... You’re also a thinker.”

“Excuse me?”

“Remember what you told me earlier? About what you imagined? That’s a sign of pothink. Based on what you described, you might even be a morpher.”

Her words hung in the air. I could only blink, utterly dumbfounded.