Chapter 2: Warnings and choices

Ava barely slept.

She tossed and turned until the numbers on her alarm clock blurred together. Every time she drifted close to sleep, she saw it again: thick black letters pressed into cream paper, spelling out a future she didn’t want to believe. He will never wake up.

By morning, the letter might as well have been carved into her bones.

She dragged herself out of bed, splashed cold water on her face, and told herself she was being ridiculous. Someone was messing with her. That was all. She’d ignore it, pretend it didn’t matter.

But stuffing the letter deeper into her backpack before leaving for school didn’t help. It felt like carrying a live wire.

The hallways were buzzing with the usual Monday noise: lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, someone blasting music too loud from a phone shoved in their hoodie pocket.

Ava kept her head down, weaving through the chaos until—

“Morning, zombie.”

Eli fell into step beside her, grinning as he shifted the straps of his backpack. His curly hair stuck up like he hadn’t even glanced at a mirror, and his shoelaces were mismatched as usual—one neon green, one plain white.

Ava forced a smile. “Morning.”

“You okay? You look like you’ve been in a fight with your pillow.”

She wanted to laugh. Wanted to say, Yeah, well, my pillow won. But her throat caught. Because the truth was, she hadn’t been in a fight with her pillow. She’d been in a fight with fate.

“I’m fine,” she said, maybe too quickly.

Eli raised an eyebrow but didn’t push. That was one of the things she loved about him—he never asked for more than she was ready to give.

They walked to first period together. He filled the silence with chatter about the math quiz he definitely hadn’t studied for, and a video he’d seen of a raccoon stealing an entire pizza from someone’s porch. Normally, Ava would’ve teased him, maybe sent him a meme mid-class just to see him snort-laugh at his desk. But today, the words slipped past her.

All she could think about was that sentence. If you do, he will never wake up.

By lunchtime, her nerves were shot. She couldn’t sit still, couldn’t focus. Every scrape of a chair, every burst of laughter sounded too sharp, like the world was vibrating at the wrong frequency.

She ducked out of the cafeteria and found a quiet spot by the vending machines. Her hand slipped into her backpack almost on its own, fingers brushing the folded envelope.

It wasn’t proof of anything. Just words. Ink.

But still.

“Why are you hiding back here?”

She flinched. Eli leaned against the wall, balancing a soda on his knee. He looked at her like she was a puzzle he wasn’t sure how to solve.

“Just… needed some air,” she said.

He studied her for a beat, then shrugged. “Fair. The cafeteria smells like feet today.”

Despite herself, Ava let out a shaky laugh.

Eli cracked open his soda. “So what’s really going on?”

Her chest tightened. For a second, she almost told him. Almost pulled out the letter and shoved it into his hands just to make it someone else’s problem.

But what if it scared him? What if he thought she was losing it?

“Nothing,” she lied.

Eli gave her a long look but didn’t argue. “Okay. Well, whatever it is, you’ll figure it out. You always do.”

He said it casually, like it was fact. But the words lodged in Ava’s ribs, heavy and sharp.

If only he knew.

The final bell rang, and Ava’s stomach flipped. The day was over. Which meant it was time to go home. Which meant facing the choice.

She could already feel the pull of routine tugging her toward the shortcut. The cracked path behind the gas station was automatic—muscle memory. But the letter’s warning was louder now, almost pulsing in her ears.

Do not take the shortcut.

Eli jogged up beside her, tossing his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Race you to the corner store?”

Her mouth went dry.

This was it. The moment the letter had pointed to.

“Uh… maybe not today,” she said. Her voice cracked.

Eli frowned. “Since when do you skip gummy worms?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a group of kids from their math class called Eli over. He waved, then turned back to her. “I’ll meet you at the shortcut, okay? Don’t ditch me.”

Ava froze.

“No!” The word shot out too loud, too fast. Heads turned. Her face burned.

Eli blinked at her. “Okay… jeez. What’s with you?”

“I—just—let’s take the long way,” she said, forcing her voice steady.

Eli stared like she’d grown a second head. But then he shrugged. “Fine, drama queen. Long way it is.”

They turned down the main road instead. Cars whooshed past, the smell of exhaust heavy in the air. The walk felt endless, Ava’s nerves stretched so tight she thought she might snap.

Halfway home, sirens wailed in the distance.

Ava stopped cold.

Her chest constricted as a fire truck and two ambulances screamed past, lights flashing. They were heading… toward the gas station. Toward the shortcut.

Her blood ran cold.

She gripped Eli’s arm without thinking.

“Whoa, Ava. You okay?” he asked, startled.

She couldn’t answer. Couldn’t breathe.

All she could do was watch the sirens vanish down the road, a sick certainty clawing at her insides.

If they’d taken the shortcut, if she hadn’t said anything—

Her knees went weak.

The letter had been right.