One year earlier.
Mara Quinn drifted through the hallway like she owned the air itself.
"Jason," she said, approaching him, smiling before he could pretend not to hear. "You vanished… again."
"I was right there," he replied, adjusting his bag strap. "You just didn't notice."
She laughed softly. "See? That's what I like about you. You don't demand attention."
Her friends slowed, orbiting her without interrupting. Mara's curls bounced as she stepped closer, her presence warm, unhurried. Jason felt it before he thought it. The easing in his shoulders. The quiet in his chest.
"You always look tired," she said. "You sleep at all?"
"Why ask?" he lied.
She tilted her head. "You don't have to lie to me."
"I wasn't."
"Mm." She studied him like a puzzle she had already decided not to solve. "You're smart, you know that?"
He shrugged. "People say things."
"They say too much," she replied. "And you think too much."
Jason smiled without meaning to. "And that's a problem?"
"Only if you let it be." She brushed past him, fingers grazing his sleeve, light and accidental. "Come sit with us later."
"I have stuff to do."
"You always do." She turned, walking backwards.
Her voice softened. "And you never get it done."
Jason hesitated. "Look, I'm trying to figure things out."
She stopped.
"Why?" Her eyes flashed. "You look okay."
He exhaled. "Or so you'd say."
Her smile didn't fade. It simply settled.
"You don't have to try so hard," she said, walking away.
The bells rang.
—------------
Jason lay flat on his bed, shoes still on, staring at the ceiling.
"You're an idiot," he muttered.
The room did not argue.
He rolled onto his side, phone face-down on the mattress. The glow leaked anyway, faint against the wall.
"She didn't mean anything," he said aloud. "She never does."
Silence pressed back.
His chest felt tight. Not pain. Weight.
The air shifted. Cooler now. His breath fogged faintly, though the window was closed.
"That's stupid," he whispered.
The shadows near the corners stretched. Not fast. Not dramatic. Just enough.
Jason sat up. "Okay. That's enough."
The light flickered.
Once.
Twice.
His lamp dimmed, brightened, then dimmed again.
"Mom?" he called. "Samuel?"
Nothing.
The curtains stirred though there was no wind. Outside, something moved past the glass. Not a shape. A suggestion.
Jason swung his legs over the bed. "I'm done."
The floor felt colder than it should.
His phone buzzed once. No notification. Just vibration.
"Stop," he said, louder now.
The shadows reached farther, stretching toward the window frame like long fingers testing distance.
Jason backed away, heart hammering. "Just… stop."
This time, it did not come back the same.
For a split second, the walls looked wrong. Too sharp. Too still.
Then the room blinked.
—--------------
Jason stands at the edge of the clearing, bow raised, breath steadying. The terrain around him is wrong in a way he cannot immediately place, trees too symmetrical, light arriving from no single source, the ground solid but faintly resonant beneath his boots, as if the Construct is listening through the soles of his feet.
He releases an arrow.
The shaft strikes bark near the canopy with a dull crack.
"Stay down," he breathes.
The tree groans.
Not wind. Not wood.
Cracks split. Bark peels away in strips, folding outward.
Jason steps back. "No. No, no."
Shapes slide free.
They unfold like men remembering how to stand. Arms too long. Necks bent slightly wrong. Their skin is bark-dark, veined with glowing symbols that pulse faintly. They climb down from the canopy like arachnids, deliberate, unhurried, wrong.
One drags itself upright, joints popping. It exhales.
The sound is tired. Human.
Jason raises his bow again. "Get back."
The creature tilts its head, watching him the way a person might.
Jason's breath hitches. "Oh. You don't,"
A sound comes from the others, low and uneven, like air dragged through tired lungs. They edge closer, unhurried.
Jason releases an arrow. It strikes a shoulder and snaps, dropping uselessly to the ground. The thing barely reacts.
"Stay back," he says, though his voice wavers.
Another figure steps forward. Its face has the rough outline of a man's, unfinished, wrong. Its eyes fix on him, unblinking.
Jason's breath hitches.