Chapter 2: The Unseen Threads
The café was too warm. The air smelled of cinnamon and roasted coffee beans, but Analie
barely noticed. She sat in the corner booth, hands wrapped around a mug of chamomile
tea she hadn't touched. Her gaze was fixed on the rain sliding down the window, each drop
a silent echo of the thoughts swirling in her mind. The storm outside mirrored the one
building inside her slow, steady, and inescapable.
Across from her, Chris leaned back in his seat, watching her with an expression that was
just a little too unreadable. He had changed over the years. Ethan's death had aged him in
ways that didn't show in lines or wrinkles but in the silence between his words, in the
tension that sometimes flickered across his features when he thought no one was
watching.
"I still can't believe he's gone," Chris said, voice low, almost reverent. "Feels like we were
just talking last week."
Analie nodded slowly, though she hadn't spoken to Chris in weeks, maybe even months,
before Ethan died. Still, he had appeared right after the funeral, checking in, offering
comfort, even sitting beside her at the memorial like he belonged there. At first, it had been
a relief to have someone who knew Ethan. But lately, something about the way he looked at
her lingered too long. Something in his words always seemed to stretch just beyond what she could name.
Did he ever talk to you… about anything strange before it happened?" Analie asked
carefully, stirring her tea without looking up. "Nightmares, maybe? Or if he was scared of
something?"
Chris blinked, caught off guard. "Scared? Ethan? No… he was fine. He was just… busy, I
guess. School. Life. You know how he was."
Analie didn't respond. She had known how Ethan was open, honest to a fault. But in the
last month before his death, even she had noticed a shift. He had grown distant, quieter.
There were times he'd stare off into space, his jaw clenched, as if haunted by thoughts he
wouldn't share. She hadn't pushed him. Now she wished she had.
Chris reached across the table and gently placed a hand over hers. "You're still grieving,
Analie. Don't let your mind take you to dark places that aren't real."
She looked up sharply, his touch burning against her skin. There it was again that quiet
insistence, the way he always tried to direct her thoughts. It wasn't cruel. It wasn't obvious.
But it was… controlling.
"I'm not imagining things," she said, her voice firmer than she expected. "I keep seeing
flashes… things I don't understand.
Memories that don't feel like mine. It's like... something is trying to show me the truth."
Chris' eyes darkened, just for a moment. "You've been through a trauma, Analie. It messes
with your head. You need rest. Not… ghost stories."
She pulled her hand away. "I don't think you understand what I'm saying."
He sat back again, smiling, but the warmth didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe I don't. But I'm
here for you. Always."
Analie forced a smile, but her heart was thudding. Something about this conversation felt
off. The way Chris deflected her questions. The way he tried to steer her away from what
she knew she felt. Maybe it was paranoia. Or maybe it was instinct.
Later, as she walked home under the grey sky, wind pressing against her coat, she thought
again of Ethan. Of his voice in her dreams. Of the pull in her chest that had started after his
death, leading her toward something she couldn't name.
She paused outside her building, hand on the railing. A flicker of light danced at the edge of
her vision, like a reflection where there was no glass. She turned quickly but no one was
there.
A chill slid down her spine. She wasn't alone. Not anymore.