The emergency room lights burned too bright.
Too clean.
Too real.
Hale's shoes squeaked against the linoleum as he paced the hallway outside Ivy's room. Nurses passed him like static, their faces blurred by his heartbeat hammering in his ears.
Inside, Ivy lay unconscious, her hand curled weakly against the edge of the bed.
He couldn't stop staring at it.
His chest still throbbed. The mark—the sigil—was complete now. His skin felt like it was stitched too tight, like something underneath had stopped pretending to be human.
When he looked in the mirror earlier that day, he didn't recognize himself.
Now he wasn't even sure if he existed.
"She's stable," a nurse said, jotting something on her clipboard. "But her blood pressure spiked. Whatever stress she's under—it hit her hard. She'll be monitored here overnight."
"Can I stay?" Hale asked.
The nurse smiled—kind, practiced, tired. "For a little while. Then you should go home. You look worse than her."
He managed a nod.
The nurse stepped away, and Hale sat beside the bed, gripping the armrest.
Ivy stirred.
Not much. Just a twitch of her fingers.
Then a whisper: "Hale?"
He leaned forward, instantly alert. "I'm here."
Her eyes flickered open, glassy and unfocused. "I feel… wrong."
"It's okay," he whispered. "You're safe."
"I saw you," she murmured. "But not you. Like a… copy made of glass and screams."
"What are you talking about?"
She blinked slowly. "And I saw my name burning."
Before he could speak again, her breath hitched. Her fingers tightened weakly around his hand.
"Ivy—"
Suddenly, his chest ignited again.
The same spot. The sigil.
But this time it wasn't heat.
It was impact.
Like something punched through dimensions straight into his soul.
He gasped, doubling over. His hand slipped from hers. His body arched as pain crushed through him.
The nurse rushed in. "Sir? Hey! You need to—!"
"I—I just need air," Hale choked out, staggering upright.
The nurse was saying something. He didn't hear it.
He stumbled into the hallway, vision blurry, steps wild.
Then—
Time cracked.
It didn't stop.
It didn't slow.
It bent.
The floor warped beneath him. The lights stuttered like dying stars.
Walls stretched. Color drained. Gravity forgot its job.
The hospital... unmade itself.
And Hale stood inside something that wasn't a place anymore.
A hollowed corridor.
No light. No sound.
Just a presence.
A suffocating, intelligent, watching presence.
His legs gave out. He collapsed to his knees, gasping, coughing.
And then—
The punch.
Right on the sigil.
There was no fist. No attacker.
Just agony. Pure. Internal. Impossible.
It felt like being torn apart molecule by molecule.
Like every nerve in his body was set on fire from the inside out—without leaving a single mark.
He opened his mouth to scream.
Nothing came out but air. Too much air.
And then—
A voice.
Not loud.
Just... final.
"I gave you time."
Hale turned, slow and broken.
There he was.
ALP.
Not a man.
A thing pretending to be a man.
His face—perfectly Hale's, but wrong in every way. Too clean. Too symmetrical. Too still.
Eyes like silence.
And that smile.
A god that learned cruelty from watching humans too long.
ALP tilted his head.
"But you wanted to chase a dream."
He stepped forward without moving.
Reality shivered around him.
"You think you can love what was meant to be forgotten?"
Hale trembled, body barely holding shape.
"I'm not here for punishment," ALP whispered.
"I'm here because you called me."
"And now, Hale—now you're mine."
The dark warped again.
And Hale screamed.
This time—loud.
But no one heard it.
Because there was no one left in this place to hear anything at all.