INICIAR SESIÓNThe lobby was empty except for her mother, who sat with her spine rigid and her fingers tearing tiny strips from a tissue. She looked up when Eliana approached, and her face went through a dozen expressions in half a second—relief, terror, exhaustion, hope.“What did she say?”“She says I’m not crazy,” Eliana said. “Just sad. And sad is allowed.”Her mother’s eyes filled with tears. She wiped them with the shredded tissue. “I can handle sad,” she said. “I can handle sad. I just couldn’t handle gone.”Eliana sat beside her. She took her mother’s hand. It was cold, trembling, the fingers stiff from holding tension for too long.“I need to go somewhere,” Eliana said.“Home. Yes. We’ll go home.”“Not yet. Mom, I need you to take me to Highway 9.”Her mother went very still. The color drained from her face, leaving her makeup standing out in harsh contrast against her skin. “No. Absolutely not.”“I need to see it.”“Why? Why would you want to see that place? It’s a nightmare. It’s—”“It’s
The hospital corridors smelled the same as every hospital Eliana had ever known—antiseptic, institutional, scrubbed of the particular scents of life and death that might remind visitors of why they were there. But Dr. Renner’s office was on the third floor, in a wing reserved for outpatient psychiatry, and someone had tried to soften the effect. The walls were painted a pale green, like the inside of a leaf. The chairs were upholstered in fabric that didn’t squeak. There was a painting of a lighthouse on the wall, the kind of motivational image that was meant to suggest hope but mostly just looked lonely.Eliana sat on the edge of her chair. She didn’t touch the tissues. Her mother waited in the lobby, clutching a magazine she wasn’t reading, and Eliana could feel her anxiety through the walls like a radio tuned to the wrong frequency.Dr. Renner was sixtyish, with silver hair pulled back in a low bun and reading glasses that hung from a beaded chain around her neck. She had the look
The house was a shrine.Not in the formal, polished way of a museum, but in the messy, lived-in way of a family that could not bear to move anything. Maya’s jacket was still on the hook by the door, the purple one with the fleece lining. Her shoes were still in the basket—sneakers, boots, a pair of sandals that had never seen another summer. The air smelled of vanilla and old paper, and from the kitchen, Eliana heard the ticking of a clock that had been keeping time for years without anyone listening.Mrs. Torres led her to the kitchen. The table was covered in photographs. Not arranged in albums, but scattered, as if someone had been searching through them and had never found the strength to put them back.“I look at them every morning,” Mrs. Torres said. “I tell myself I’m going to organize them. I never do.”Eliana picked one up. It was Maya at fourteen, grinning at the camera with a mouthful of braces, holding a fish she had caught at a lake. Eliana remembered the day. She remembe
The morning after the graveyard, Eliana’s mother made pancakes.They were terrible pancakes—burnt at the edges, raw in the center, the kind of culinary failure that came from a woman who had spent six years forgetting how to cook for someone else. She set them on the table with a defiance that dared Eliana to complain. Eliana ate three. They tasted like ash and love.“I have the appointment at ten,” her mother said, not looking at her. “The evaluation. Dr. Renner. I called in sick to work.”“You don’t have to come with me.”“I’m coming.”Eliana nodded. She understood, suddenly, that her mother was not just escorting her to a hospital. She was guarding her. She was afraid that if she let Eliana out of her sight, the world might open up and swallow her again, the way it had swallowed her on the road. The way the Realm had swallowed her.Eliana reached into her pocket. The compass was there, warm and patient. She didn’t open it. She just held it, feeling the shape of the lid, the engrave
Oak Hill was smaller than the graveyard where Maya lay. It was older, the stones weathered to illegibility, the trees thicker and more gnarled. Eliana walked through the gate. The compass needle swung gently, guiding her past rows of monuments that dated back to the 1800s, past veterans' flags and silk flowers bleached by years of sun.She found him near the eastern edge, beneath an oak that had dropped its leaves in a thick carpet of bronze. The stone was simple, the kind chosen by parents who had spent everything on treatment and had nothing left for granite.ETHAN J. CALDWELL2004 - 2020HE LOOKED UPEliana stared at the epitaph. He looked up. She didn't know what it meant, but she felt something unlock in her chest. She knelt. She placed her palm against the cold stone. It was not warm like Maya's had been in the hallway. It was simply stone. But it was real."I know your name now," she said. "Ethan."The wind moved through the oak leaves. They sounded like pages turning."You hel
Eliana woke to the sound of dishes.Not the violent clatter of a dropped plate, but the ordinary, methodical clinking of her mother unloading the dishwasher, slotting forks into their tray, sliding mugs onto the shelf with the quiet rhythm of someone who had done this ten thousand times and would do it ten thousand more. The sound was so normal, so aggressively domestic, that Eliana lay still for a long moment, staring at the ceiling, convinced she had hallucinated the entire Realm. Perhaps she was still sixteen. Perhaps she had never driven the car. Perhaps Maya was still alive, still texting her about meeting at the diner, still breathing in the next room over.But the ceiling was wrong. She had painted it blue at fourteen, a sky full of clouds she had sponged on herself, but now it was white, the work of her mother in one of the years Eliana had stopped coming home. The room was the same and not the same. It was a museum of a girl who no longer existed.Eliana sat up.The compass s
Cautiously, I stepped into the office.The air inside felt heavier than it should have been, like something unseen was pressing down on my chest. My fingers twitched at my sides as I forced myself to move forward.Ms. Light sat behind her desk, still waiting.Her eyes were fixed on the door—on me—a
“You have to retake that test.”The voice came without warning.Eliana didn’t flinch this time.She didn’t scream, didn’t jump—didn’t even turn immediately. That alone felt like progress. Or maybe she was just too tired to react anymore.Slowly, she lifted her head.Her spirit guide stood beside he
You've failed your test Eliana, you will now die a permanent death.“No…” I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips as a cold wave of dread swept through me.It felt like my blood had turned to ice, draining from my body as fear settled deep in my chest.“No.”The realization hit harder than an
I sat there, staring at my paper, my heart slowly calming. If this was just a test… Then I didn’t need to panic.“This is your first challenge, Eliana.” The familiar voice cut through my thoughts.I froze.Then slowly lowered my gaze.He was there.Sitting on my desk like he had always been there.







