Chapter 1: The Quiet Hour
It was 4:03 AM when he woke up.
The world outside his window was silent—too silent. No wind, no passing cars, not even the rustle of trees. Just the soft hum of the ceiling fan above and the steady beat of his own heart.
He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Something had stirred him from a dreamless sleep. Not a sound, exactly… more like a feeling. A weight in the air. A subtle wrongness.
The hallway light was off, but the faint blue glow of moonlight slipped through the edges of the curtain. He stretched and cracked his neck, ready to pass it off as nothing.
Then he saw her door.
It was open.
Harper never left her door open.
He stood up, padded quietly down the hallway in bare feet, and peeked inside her room.
And froze.
All of her books—dozens of them—were scattered across the floor. Not just fallen, but laid out in precise, deliberate spirals, like someone had carefully placed each one. Her bookshelf stood eerily empty, its wooden frame creaking in the silence.
But that wasn’t the strangest part.
In the center of the room, under the pale beam of moonlight, was her chair.
Her old writing chair.
It wasn’t near the desk where it always sat. It had been moved—turned toward the door as if waiting for someone. Or something.
He took a step into the room. The floorboards didn’t creak. The air felt colder than the rest of the house. And Harper was nowhere to be seen.
“Harper?” he whispered.
No answer.
Only the silence. And that chair… staring at him like it had a story to tell.
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