Maya's weight grows heavier against my shoulder as her breathing deepens into sleep. The evening shadows stretch across my bedroom floor, and somewhere in the village, Claire is walking home with my grandmother's journal - taking with her all my chances of understanding what's happening to me.

Sleep doesn't come easily. I lie awake, Maya's warmth beside me, thinking about the symbols we saw, about Claire's face when she took the journal. About how quickly everything can change.

Morning brings unwelcome clarity. I drag myself through the familiar routine - washing, dressing, trying to look normal even though nothing feels normal anymore. The walk to school has never felt longer. No Claire waiting at our usual corner, no shared secrets or morning gossip.

My steps slow as I approach the schoolyard. Claire stands with a group of girls, but when she sees me, she turns away. It shouldn't hurt this much - it's just her back, just her silence - but it does.

During lessons, I can't help stealing glances at her. She sits three rows ahead now, as far from me as possible. When Mrs. Hemlock asks us to pair up for practice, Claire quickly partners with Mira. The message is clear: she meant what she said last night.

At lunch, I try one more time. I approach her table slowly, my hands gripping my lunch sack too tightly. "Claire? Can we talk?"

She doesn't look up. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Please, I just want to-"

"I said no." Her voice shakes slightly. "Just... just leave me alone, Julie."

I can hear them - other students watching this public fracture of our friendship. I retreat to an empty table, cheeks burning. Is this how it starts? The isolation my grandmother faced?

That's when I decide to visit the library. If Claire won't help me understand, I'll find another way. I spend hours after school searching through dusty shelves, pulling out any book that might hold answers. Trade histories, local legends, anything that might mention the Upside Down or the ancient statues.

The library smells of dust and old paper as I scan another shelf. My back aches from hours of searching, but I can't stop. Not when every book might hold something grandmother knew, something that could help me understand what's happening.

I brush my fingers along leather spines, pausing at titles that might be useful. Trade records, old maps, anything about Millbrook. Claire has my grandmother's journal, but there must be other sources. Other answers.

"Still here, Julie?" Mrs. Reed's voice makes me jump. She stands in the doorway, concern clear on her face. "It's nearly sunset."

"Just... studying," I mumble, sliding a book back into place.

Her eyes linger on the titles I've been examining. "Your father was asking after you at the well. Perhaps it's time to head home?"

Home. Where Mom will ask careful questions and Dad will try to hide his worry. Where Maya will be waiting with her strange comments about "pretty friends." Where everything feels like it's slipping away, changing into something I don't understand.

I gather my hastily scrawled notes and stuff them into my bag - hours of research reduced to confused scribbles that lead nowhere. The walk home gives me time to think. Claire's silence weighing on me like stones in my pockets. It's strange how someone's absence can feel so physical, like a wall being built brick by brick between us.

The house stands unusually quiet when I arrive. Then I hear them - those muffled voices from the kitchen that mean Mom and Dad are having one of their "private" conversations.

"Mrs. Reed said she spent all afternoon in the school library," Dad's saying, voice tight with worry. "She's starting to act just like..."

"They're isolating her," Mom cuts him off. "Just like they did with my mother" A pause.

"Running away won't solve anything," Dad responds.

"It's not running away, it's giving her space to breathe. To be normal again."

"The Church is watching more closely now. If they notice-" Dada reply hardens.

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"I know." Mom's voice drops lower. "But what can we do? Lock her up? Take away her books? My mom tried warning me this might happen. That the ‘gift’ might pass to Julie..."

I lean against the wall, heart pounding. They know something - about grandmother, about what's happening to me. But before I can hear more, the floorboard beneath my foot betrays me with a creak.

The kitchen falls silent.

"Julie?" Mom calls. "Is that you?"

I step into view, trying to look casual. "Just getting water."

Mom smiles, though concern lingers in her eyes. "Perfect timing - dinner's almost ready. Could you call Maya down?"

At the table, Maya chatters about her day at school while I push food around my plate, rehearsing words in my head. Finally, I set down my fork and take a deep breath.

The kitchen fills with familiar dinner sounds - the scrape of chairs, the clink of plates, the soft thud of Maya's feet as she bounds down the stairs. For a while, we maintain the illusion of a normal family meal. Dad talks about the garden, Mom serves extra portions, Maya describes every detail of her day at school.

I push a potato across my plate, waiting. The words sit heavy in my throat, but timing is everything. Finally, as Mom starts clearing the main dishes, I set down my fork.

"I want to go to Millbrook."

The clatter of plates stops. Mom's hands freeze over the table, and Dad's cup pauses halfway to his mouth. Only Maya continues eating, humming softly to herself as if nothing has happened.

The words come out stronger than I expected. Mom and Dad exchange looks - the kind parents share when they're trying to decide how to say no.

"Absolutely not," Dad says finally. "It's too dangerous right now."

"The traders come here all the time!"

"That's different," Mom says gently. "They travel in groups, with protection. And lately, even they seem nervous."

"I need to go." My hands clench into fists at my sides. "There might be answers there. About grandmother, about what's happening-"

"No." Dad's voice holds that tone that means the discussion is over. "I won't risk losing you too."

"You can't stop me forever," I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. "If you don't help me, I'll find a way myself."

The moment I say it, I know it's a mistake. Mom's face goes pale, and Dad's expression hardens.

"Go to your room," he says quietly. "We'll discuss this when you're thinking more clearly."

I turn and flee upstairs, my feet heavy with frustration and shame. Through my window, I can see the sun setting over the forest, painting the trees in shades of blood and gold. Somewhere out there are answers - about the whispers, about what grandmother discovered. About why Claire is so afraid I'll disappear.

I grip the edge of my desk until my knuckles turn white, watching shadows creep across the village roofs. How can I make them understand? They think I want to run away, to hide from what's happening. But this isn't about rebellion or escape. Something is coming - I can feel it in the whispers, in the way the shadows move, in Maya's strange new wisdom. Something that won't wait for their permission or their protection.

My hands shake slightly as I pull out my map of the region, spreading it across my desk. Millbrook isn't far - three days' walk along the trade road. The Guild master of the Crimson Flow will be there next month for demonstrations. Just thinking about it makes my hands tingle with an energy I can't explain - a chance to learn about the Flows firsthand, to understand what grandmother knew.

And those merchants from Millbrook... I trace the trade route with my finger, remembering their nervous glances at the forest, the way they hurried to leave before sunset. It wasn't normal trader caution - it was fear. They know something - about the whispers maybe, or about others like me. My fingers hover over the small dot marking Millbrook. Maybe that's where grandmother found her answers, before... before whatever happened to her. Before she walked into the forest that last time. Maybe that's where I'll find mine.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Julie?" Mom's voice carries that gentle worry I've come to hate - the same tone she used when grandmother disappeared. "Can we talk?"

"It's open."

She sits on my bed, smoothing her apron with nervous hands. "Your father... we're just trying to protect you."

"I know." I trace the route to Millbrook with my finger. "But what if hiding isn't protecting me? What if it's making things worse?"

"Julie, look at me." When I do, her eyes are bright with tears. "Your grandmother said the same thing, once. Before she..." She swallows hard. "I can't lose you too. Please understand."

"Then help me," I whisper. "Come with me to Millbrook. Or let Dad come. We could do it safely, together."

She's quiet for a long moment. "Let me talk to your father," she says finally. "No promises. But... let me try."

After she leaves, I stare at my map again. The route looks so simple on paper - just follow the trade road northeast. But I know it's not that easy. Nothing is anymore.

From downstairs, I hear Mom and Dad's voices rise and fall, too muffled to make out words. Maya hums in our room. I fold the map carefully and tuck it away.

Outside my window, the first stars appear. Somewhere in the darkness, an owl calls - a lonely sound that seems to echo my own isolation. The village grows quiet except for distant dog barks and the soft evening bells.

Tomorrow, Claire will avoid my eyes again. Tomorrow, I'll sit alone in class, watching my best friend drift further away. But tomorrow, I'll also be one day closer to finding answers.

I press my forehead against the cool glass. Grandmother walked this path before me. She left clues, if I'm brave enough to follow them. Some paths you have to walk alone, whether you want to or not.

I just have to decide how far I'm willing to go to find them.