I jolted awake, heart battering my ribs. Air scraped my throat.

  "Ugh...!" My voice tore out, dry and broken.

  Hands flew to my throat, searching for the slick heat of blood, but found nothing. My skin was dry, even as cold sweat crept along my collar.

  Could it be... It was a dream all along? Or... I'm already dead?

  I tried to speak, but my throat only offered a dry rasp in protest. My mouth felt like it was crumbling into dust.

  I need water. Now.

  The bottle barely made it to my lips before I downed it in desperate gulps. Only when the last drop hit my stomach did my heartbeat slow to a dull thrum.

  A soft shuffle brushed the silence.

  Then something shifted next to me.

  Iz?

  With my usual dramatic flair kicking back in, I rasped out, "Ahhh! I'm dead! Am I in heaven or hell?"

  A glance to my left. There stood Iz, arms crossed, eyes narrowed into her signature ‘Is your brain leaking out of your ears?’ glare.

  Groaning, I flopped back into my chair. "Oh. I became a spirit wandering around the world. And I dragged Iz with me? I'm such a horrible friend." I covered my face with my hands, the picture of theatrical grief.

  With a heavy sigh, Iz smacked the back of my head. "Did the heat finally fry your brain?" she muttered. "Not that you had much to start with."

  I blinked hard, looking at my unblemished hands. "Wait… so I'm not dead? No cuts? No scythe to the neck?" I grabbed her shoulders, shaking her as a new wave of jittery panic surfaced.

  Dizzy, Iz screeched, "No but I will make your wish come true if you keep shaking me like that! LET GO!"

  I released her instantly. "Sorry. That nightmare… it felt real."

  Iz slumped into her chair, rubbing her temples. "You don't say. I could hear you screaming bloody murder from downstairs. You wouldn't wake up no matter what I did. What kind of nightmare was it?"

  "The worst. The most vivid one I've ever had." I paused. Silence pooled between us. Too bright, too loud for comfort. I wasn’t ready to drag those blood-soaked images into the daylight. Not here. Not yet.

  I glanced at the clock. It was well past lunch. "Hey, you hungry? Let's go to Uncle Simon's."

  Uncle Simon’s restaurant was a place that transcended generations. Nestled near Iz’s house, it exuded warmth, nostalgia, and a scent that clung to memories like a stubborn perfume. The dishes were divine, the staff quirky, and the atmosphere made time feel irrelevant.

  "Sure. I'm starving after trying to wake you," Iz sighed, standing up. "Which, by the way, you still haven't explained."

  "You sure know how to guilt-trip someone." I slowly got up. My body ached with a deep, bone-weary soreness.

  Was it just a bad sleeping position? I’ve slept in actual ditches before and never felt this… hollowed out.

  I shook my head to clear the fog.

  Let's not dwell on it now.

  I looked towards Iz's direction and noticed her glaring at me.

  "Okay, okay! I'll tell you," I winced. "Just… after lunch. Your glare could freeze a desert, gal. Chill."

  "You promise? If you dodge—" She clenched her fist and shoved it an inch from my nose.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  I recoiled. Oui. That's one fist I wouldn't go on a test run.

  I nudged her out of the classroom. "I promise. When have I ever broken one?"

  Iz didn't miss a beat. "Always!"

  As we walked beneath the molten afternoon sun, a chaotic scene pulled our attention. A group of housewives were practically climbing over each other, battling over a "90% Off" sale. It looked like a scene ripped straight out of a low-budget zombie film.

  "Oui…" I whispered. "I hope they don't actually turn into zombies."

  "Don't jinx it, you frick," Iz hissed, grabbing my arm and dragging me away. I stared at her in surprise.

  She just swore? Wow. The last zombie movie we watched must have done more psychological damage than I realized.

  Passing a uniform store, my eyes caught the display window and I froze. Old-style uniforms hung there: crisp collars, muted tones, fabrics from a different era.

  Too similar. Too familiar.

  Something in my head clicked into the wrong gear. A flash of the nightmare sliced through me, the iron smell, the twisted armor. Fingers trembled before I could stop them. I shoved my hands into my pockets.

  I'd tell her at the house. I promised I would.

  Ten minutes later, we reached Uncle Simon’s. The moment we stepped in, a familiar blend of classical music and hearty laughter welcomed us. Despite being way past lunchtime, the place still buzzed with life. The signature floral scent hanging in the air. The floors? Pristine as always.

  We slipped into a seat just before more customers flooded in.

  "Ming-ah~ 'The Usual,' please~" I waved to the ever-stealthy Ming. He nodded once and vanished into the kitchen like a shadow.

  I scanned the interior. Hmm? Something felt… different. Off by a hair.

  "Hey… the furniture changed. The old, musky tables and chairs are gone."

  Iz frowned, looking around. "Yeah… These new ones don't match the vibe at all."

  I ran my fingers across the polished surface. It was too smooth. Too sterile. The old tables had scratches, dents, and tiny stories carved into the grain. This new wood felt... lobotomized. Wiped of its history. A prickle of unease crawled up my spine.

  Ming materialized beside us, light on his feet. “We’re renovating,” he said, balancing our dishes without a sound.

  "AHH!" Iz jumped, and I nearly fell off my chair.

  Ming chuckled, placing the food down. "Here's your order."

  I glared. "Would it kill you to make a sound? One of these days I'm going to keel over from shock."

  Iz grabbed Ming, concern etched into her features. "Renovation? You're not shutting down, are you?"

  "Not at all, dear customer. Just refreshing the place. Some furniture broke. Time to let them go."

  Iz sighed in relief, but I didn't join her. I wasn't convinced at all. I narrowed my eyes.

  Renovating made sense, but something about the sudden change didn’t sit right.

  "Broke? Everything was fine last week," I muttered. "Unless someone got into a fight…"

  "Lil. Eat," Iz warned, her voice unusually gentle. "...Before it gets cold."

  That was strange. Iz never used that gentle tone. Normally she’d bark at me to shut up and eat. The gentleness felt wrong.

  The last thought made me recoil.

  Ugh. Ever since those nightmares, my thoughts are all tangled. Let’s just eat.

  I surrendered to the food until another thought struck.

  "Hey, Iz. Isn't it weird we never ask what 'The Usual' actually is? It changes every time."

  "Probably to entertain eccentric people like you."

  I nodded. "Checks out."

  Iz devoured her meal with supernatural speed. "You're thinking too much again. Is this about the dream?"

  I choked on a mouthful of rice.

  Dream. That cursed word. Just when I decided to bury it in Neverland.

  "I can't talk about it here. Not in public. I'll explain at your house."

  Iz froze. "It's Friday. You're crashing again?"

  "Weekends too," I grinned.

  "…Even if I said no, you'd break in anyway."

  Laughter escaped me, bright and brittle. Ah~ Her complaint was beautiful music.

  After paying, we stepped outside.

  Just a quick walk to her place, then I'd—

  I was mid-thought when I collided with a solid chest.

  "Oh! Sorry! I didn't hit you too hard, right?" I bowed instantly, cursing my lack of focus.

  Why didn't I watch where I was going?

  The man adjusted his hat, his other hand resting on the medic kit at his waist, and smiled. "No worries. Just a light bump. Are you alright, young lady?"

  I looked up, and my blood turned to ice.

  Something about his presence tugged at a cold, dark corner of my memory. It was that same chilling familiarity from the nightmare. The way he stood, the way the air seemed to still around him.

  This person... he—

  My voice stuttered. "I–I–I…"

  Iz cut in, pulling me back. "She's fine. Sorry."

  The man nodded politely and walked into the restaurant. Iz smirked as we walked away. "Your type? Not bad."

  Over my shoulder, I looked back, the hair on my arms standing up. "Not for someone who’s supposed to be in a grave," I murmured.

  Iz halted. "What do you mean? He looks alive to me. You literally just bounced off him. Did your brain short out again?"

  I shook my head, my voice barely a whisper. "I’ll explain at your house. It’s a long story… and a creepy one. Might give you nightmares."

  Iz groaned. "Why did I ask? Can I take it back?"

  "Too late, bestie~" I grabbed her arm and headed for her place.

  Even as I skipped ahead, humming an ominous tune to hide my nerves, a thin thread of dread coiled in my chest.

  Uncle Simon's. The man. The nightmare. They were connected by a dark, invisible string. Somehow. And the explanation waiting at Iz's house would not be an easy one.

  Some people or memories follow you into the daylight.

  Friends, food, and familiar streets help, but a chill lingers.

  And that shadow? It’s far from done.