Antiseptic and sterile air clung to Ethan’s lungs, thick and suffocating. He sat hunched forward in a rigid plastic chair, elbows on his knees, head buried in his hands.

  His pulse pounded relentlessly in his ears.

  He should have been in there with her.

  Instead, he was trapped in this damn waiting room, glaring at the clock as if time itself could hand him an answer.

  The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above. Muted conversations and distant footsteps blurred into a dull hum. Everything felt off—like the world had tilted slightly, unsettlingly wrong.

  Like she wasn’t supposed to be behind those sterile walls.

  Ethan clenched his eyes shut, dragging in a slow, uneven breath.

  This wasn’t supposed to be happening.

  Section 2: Flashback – The Last Normal Moment

  “Ethan Voss, you’re such a liar.”

  Eve’s playful accusation cut through the low murmur of the café.

  Ethan smirked over the rim of his coffee cup. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  Her eyes narrowed in mock suspicion. “Oh? So you’re denying telling your students that I canceled class last week?”

  “I would never slander your spotless reputation.”

  Eve scoffed. “Please. Steven from my 9 AM class had the audacity to thank me for ‘the extra weekend.’ Like I was handing out vacation days.” She leaned forward, pointing a finger at him. “You owe me an apology, you jerk.”

  Ethan grinned, propping his chin on his hand. “Pretty sure I said we—meaning you and me—agreed to give them an extra day.”

  “Lies.”

  “Convenient memory loss.”

  Eve huffed, crossing her arms. “You are the absolute worst.”

  Ethan chuckled, watching the way the corner of her mouth twitched despite her best efforts. Years of knowing her taught him that look all too well.

  She wasn’t really mad.

  She was teasing him.

  And damn, he loved it.

  Loved all of it—the banter, the effortless back-and-forth, the way he could always coax a smirk out of her, even when she tried to hide it.

  The moment lingered just a little longer than it should have.

  Until finally—

  Eve rolled her eyes. “Ugh. I hate that look.”

  Ethan blinked. “What look?”

  “That infuriating, smug ‘oh, I’m Ethan, and I just won this argument without lifting a finger’ face.”

  He laughed. “I do not sound like that.”

  “You totally do.”

  Ethan sipped his coffee, hiding a smirk behind the cup. “I’ll work on it.”

  Eve shook her head, but her smile betrayed her.

  They always had moments like this—simple exchanges that seemed trivial but somehow meant everything.

  And if he had known—

  If he’d known that would be their last ordinary moment together—

  He would have held on just a little longer.

  Ethan’s fingers dug into his knees, knuckles turning white.

  The comforting aroma of coffee had been replaced by the sterile sting of disinfectant and the chill of hospital air.

  She was in there—fighting for her life—and no one could tell him why.

  His breath came unsteady, shoulders rising and falling in uneven rhythm.

  He had to do something. Anything.

  A soft shuffle of footsteps snapped him upright.

  Dr. Mercer stood there, white coat slightly rumpled, face neutral—but his eyes betrayed him.

  Ethan shot to his feet, his pulse surging. “Is she—?”

  “She’s alive,” Mercer said softly.

  The words should have been a relief.

  But they weren’t.

  Because Mercer’s tone held no reassurance.

  Ethan’s stomach plummeted.

  “…But?” His voice barely came out.

  Mercer sighed, dragging a hand down his face before gesturing toward a quieter corner. “We need to talk.”

  Ethan followed, his legs moving on autopilot, feeling like they weren’t fully attached to him.

  Dr. Mercer flipped open a file and exhaled slowly.

  “We ran every test possible,” Mercer said, his voice measured. “Bloodwork, MRI, toxicology. We even checked for rare infections and neurological conditions.”

  Ethan’s fingers curled into tight fists. “And?”

  Mercer met his gaze with grim finality.

  “Nothing.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Ethan’s chest tightened painfully. “What do you mean, nothing?”

  “No trauma. No toxins. No diseases. Her organs, her heart—everything should work. But instead…” Mercer hesitated.

  Ethan leaned in, voice razor-sharp. “Instead, what?”

  Mercer’s face remained unreadable.

  “…Her body is shutting down.”

  The words hit like a freight train.

  Ethan’s pulse roared in his ears. “What?!”

  Mercer drew a slow, measured breath. “It’s as if… she’s reached the end of her lifespan.”

  The world tilted off its axis.

  Ethan stumbled back, throat constricting. “That’s impossible.”

  Mercer gave a slow, grim nod. “I agree.”

  His voice was too calm—unnervingly so, making Ethan feel like the ground beneath him was splintering apart.

  “She’s thirty-two. You don’t just—” Ethan gritted his teeth, unable to finish the thought.

  “I know,” Mercer replied, voice tight. “That’s what makes this so strange.”

  A deep, gnawing dread coiled in Ethan’s gut.

  None of this made sense.

  He needed answers.

  Now.

  Ethan’s heartbeat thundered against his ribs.

  Dr. Mercer’s calm, detached words echoed relentlessly in his skull.

  “It’s as if… she’s reached the end of her lifespan.”

  "Her body is shutting down."

  “There’s no medical explanation.”

  Ethan sat rigid, fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.

  This was bullshit.

  Utter bullshit.

  Eve wasn’t some dying old woman. She wasn’t sick. She wasn’t weak.

  And yet—

  There she was. Hooked up to machines. Fading.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Ethan’s throat felt tight. His nails dug into his palms.

  He didn’t even notice the trembling in his fingers until Dr. Mercer spoke again.

  “We’ll continue running tests,” Mercer said. “But Ethan… I need you to prepare yourself for the possibility that we may not find an answer.”

  Ethan’s head snapped up. “No.”

  Dr. Mercer blinked. “Ethan—”

  “No,” he snapped, his voice sharp, barely restrained. “You’re the damn doctor. You’re supposed to know how to fix this.”

  “We’re doing everything we—”

  “Then do more!”

  His voice echoed through the waiting room. A few passing nurses glanced over, but Ethan didn’t care.

  Mercer exhaled sharply, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I know this is difficult, but there is nothing—nothing—indicating an external cause. If I had any other explanation, I’d tell you. But right now, we have to—”

  “—what? Wait for her to just slip away?!” Ethan’s voice cracked. “That’s your plan? Just—just watch her—”

  His chest heaved.

  His fingernails dug into his palms, leaving crescent-shaped marks.

  Dr. Mercer’s face remained composed, but his eyes softened slightly. “I understand how you feel.”

  Ethan let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “No. You don’t.”

  The doctor sighed. “I’ll let you know the moment we have something.”

  He closed the file, gave Ethan one last unreadable glance, then turned and walked away.

  Ethan’s legs felt numb.

  His hands were still shaking.

  This isn’t happening.

  It can’t be happening.

  His vision blurred as he buried his face in his hands.

  Eve wasn’t dying.

  She wasn’t.

  But the machines said otherwise.

  "Tell me something."

  Ethan blinked, looking up from his laptop. Across from him, Eve swirled her drink absentmindedly, watching him with that thoughtful look—the one she got when something weighed on her mind.

  "Yeah?"

  Eve leaned her cheek against her palm. "If you only had a year left to live… would you want to know?"

  The question came too casually. Like it was nothing.

  Ethan frowned. “Where the hell did that come from?”

  Eve chuckled, shaking her head. “A student essay, actually. One of those ‘if you knew when you’d die’ thought experiments.”

  Ethan leaned back in his chair, studying her. “…And?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. I think I’d rather not know. Feels like it’d ruin everything.”

  Ethan hummed, tilting his head. “I don’t think I’d mind.”

  Eve raised a brow. “Oh?”

  “I mean, I’d do things differently, right? I’d make sure the people I care about knew how I felt.”

  The words left his mouth before he could think about them.

  Eve stilled for half a second, then looked away with a small, half-smile.

  “…That’s kind of nice,” she murmured.

  Ethan watched her carefully, but she didn’t say anything else.

  If he had known—

  If he had known she’d be lying in a hospital bed, slipping away without an answer—

  He would have told her then.

  He wouldn’t have wasted time.

  Ethan stood.

  His movements felt stiff, robotic, like his body had decided before his mind could catch up.

  He needed to do something. Anything.

  If the doctors couldn’t explain it, then maybe they missed something.

  Maybe it had to do with where she collapsed.

  He turned toward the exit.

  He was going back to the last place she was okay.

  The night air was colder than before.

  Or maybe it just felt that way.

  Ethan stood in the empty parking lot, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, breath visible in the cold air.

  This was it.

  The place where he found her.

  And nothing looked out of place.

  The pavement was still cracked in the same spots. The streetlights hummed softly, casting long shadows. A few leaves drifted across the lot, caught in the faint wind.

  Ethan dragged a shaky hand through his hair.

  What am I even looking for?

  It wasn’t like he expected some glaring clue, some neon sign pointing to the answer.

  But something in his gut told him—he was missing something.

  His gaze settled on the spot where she had been.

  Eve had been right there. Fine. Living her life.

  And then—she wasn’t.

  Did she really just collapse for no reason? No attack, no accident, no warning. Just unconscious on the pavement, like someone had flipped a switch.

  Ethan exhaled sharply.

  The doctors had no answers. Neither did he.

  But something about this wasn’t right.

  He scanned the parking lot again. The cracked pavement. The dim glow of the streetlights. The empty rows of parked cars.

  Nothing stood out.

  So why couldn’t he shake the feeling that he was missing something?

  His fists clenched.

  Standing here wasn’t going to magically give him answers, but walking away felt wrong.

  There had to be something—anything—that explained what happened.

  Then, a sensation.

  It wasn’t sound. It wasn’t movement.

  It was a pull.

  Faint but unmistakable, like something invisible had shifted in the air around him.

  Ethan’s body went rigid.

  Then—

  CRACK.

  Not a noise, but a feeling. Like the air itself had split apart.

  His head snapped toward the source.

  And he saw it.

  A thin fracture in the space just ahead, barely visible, like a crack in glass that hadn’t fully broken. It shimmered, distorted the air around it, pulsed like a breath inhaled and held too long.

  Ethan’s pulse pounded in his ears.

  His instincts screamed at him to run.

  But he couldn’t move.

  Because someone was stepping through.

  The distortion rippled outward, bending the space around it like a heatwave. Ethan’s breath hitched as a figure emerged—slow, deliberate, like wading through something dense and unseen.

  Then the crack sealed behind him, vanishing as if it had never been there.

  Ethan’s fists clenched. His body tensed, every instinct on edge.

  The man stood still, chest rising and falling unevenly—like someone who had pushed himself past his limit. His posture was firm, but there was a slight tremor in his shoulders—subtle, but there.

  Ethan's instincts screamed at him.

  Something was wrong with this guy.

  He wasn’t just some lost stranger wandering into the wrong place—he didn’t belong here.

  The air around him shimmered faintly, almost imperceptibly, like static clinging to a signal just out of range. It wasn’t visible, not really, but Ethan felt it.

  An unnatural presence. A wrongness that made his skin crawl.

  And yet, the man didn’t move. He didn’t attack.

  Ethan’s hands clenched at his sides.

  He was done with people showing up unannounced.

  His patience was gone.

  “Did you do this?”

  The man’s golden eyes lifted to him.

  For a second, he didn’t respond. His gaze flickered—sharp, assessing.

  Ethan saw the exhaustion in him now. The tension in his jaw. The way his breath came slow, measured—not in control, but trying to be.

  Then—

  “…Excuse me?”

  His voice was steady, controlled, but there was something beneath it. Strain.

  Ethan took a step forward, heat rising in his chest.

  “Eve,” he bit out. “She’s dying in a hospital bed right now. No injuries. No reason. Her body just—shut down.”

  His fists tightened. His breath felt uneven. His throat burned.

  “Was it you?”

  Silence.

  The man didn’t react—not how Ethan expected.

  No denial. No protest.

  Instead, his brow furrowed slightly.

  And that—that—made Ethan’s stomach twist.

  It wasn’t guilt.

  It was calculation.

  Like something wasn’t adding up.

  Like Ethan had just said something that caught him off guard.

  Ethan’s muscles remained locked, his pulse hammering in his ears.

  Everything about this man—his sudden appearance, his reaction—felt wrong.

  Like he knew something but wasn’t saying it.

  Orin exhaled slowly, his golden eyes flickering toward the empty lot before settling back on Ethan.

  “I was tracking something,” he finally said, voice steady but edged with something unreadable. “Something that shouldn’t have been able to reach this world. The trace led me here.”

  Ethan’s patience snapped. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Orin didn’t answer immediately. His fingers twitched slightly before he raised a hand.

  The air around them shifted.

  Ethan stiffened as an unseen force pressed against his skin—subtle but undeniable, like the atmosphere itself had been disturbed.

  Then, just as quickly as it came, it was gone.

  Orin’s fingers flexed, his expression darkening. “There was a disturbance here,” he muttered under his breath.

  Ethan’s jaw tightened. “No shit,” he snapped. “Something happened here. Eve collapsed. And you? You showed up out of nowhere. So start explaining.”

  Orin met his gaze fully.

  Then—with quiet certainty—he said, “She was drained.”

  Ethan froze.

  His chest constricted, breath catching like something cold and sharp had wedged itself beneath his ribs.

  Drained.

  Drained of what?

  Ethan swallowed hard, his voice unsteady. “Are you saying… whatever you were tracking did this to her?”

  Orin’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yes.”

  Ethan’s stomach twisted.

  The air around him felt too thin, like he couldn’t get a full breath. His mind fought against the words, against what they meant.

  His fists clenched at his sides. “How?”

  Orin exhaled, his fingers rolling absently—like someone replaying an event in their mind.

  “It was weaker than I expected. It shouldn’t have needed to take anything so soon.” His gaze flickered, distant for a half-second. “That means it’s unstable.”

  Ethan’s fists tightened again, his pulse roaring.

  None of this made sense.

  And yet—his gut told him it was the truth.

  “…And it’s still out there?”

  Orin’s gaze sharpened. “Yes.”

  Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs.

  His throat felt tight.

  He wasn’t sure if he wanted to scream or break something.

  But one thing was certain.

  He needed to know how to stop this.

  How to fix this.

  His hands curled into fists, anger simmering beneath his skin.

  “Tell me how to bring her back.”

  Orin didn’t answer immediately.

  That hesitation sent another surge of frustration through Ethan’s chest. His patience was razor-thin, and he had no time for riddles.

  His voice cut sharp. “Don’t make me ask again.”

  Orin exhaled, his gaze steady. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

  Ethan’s fists clenched. “Then make me understand.”

  A heavy silence settled between them.

  Finally, Orin spoke.

  “She’s alive,” he said. “But she won’t be for long.”

  Ethan’s jaw locked. “I know that.”

  “You don’t,” Orin countered, voice firm. “Her body is barely holding on. If nothing is done, she will fade—and nothing in this world will be able to stop it.”

  Ethan’s stomach twisted.

  Every second that passed was another second closer to losing her.

  He forced himself to focus. “Then tell me how to fix it.”

  Orin’s expression remained calm, but something in his posture shifted—something heavier.

  He wasn’t hesitating because he didn’t have an answer.

  He was hesitating because Ethan wasn’t going to like it.

  Ethan gritted his teeth. “You don’t get to hesitate now. You don’t get to act like this is some theory.”

  His throat felt dry. His breath shook.

  “I don’t care what it takes. I don’t care what I have to do.”

  His voice dropped lower, steady, unyielding.

  “I will give anything to bring her back.”

  Orin’s golden eyes darkened.

  And then—he spoke.

  “You can’t save her from here.”

  Ethan’s breath caught.

  Orin continued, voice steady. “Earth can’t sustain her for long. Not like this. No medicine, no treatment here will stop what’s happening to her.” He inhaled slowly. “But there’s something in my world that can.”

  Ethan’s heart pounded against his ribs.

  Orin’s golden eyes locked onto his, unwavering.

  “You need to leave this world.”

  Silence.

  Ethan’s fingers twitched. “…What?”

  “You heard me,” Orin said. “If you want to save her, you have to leave Earth. You have to go where the cure exists.”

  Ethan’s chest tightened.

  Before he could speak, Orin’s voice cut deeper.

  “And if you do—” A pause, heavy and deliberate. “Ethan Voss will cease to exist.”

  The world tilted beneath him.

  Ethan’s breath hitched. “What…?”

  Orin’s expression didn’t change.

  “You will disappear from this world,” he said evenly. “No one will remember you. It will be as if you never existed.”

  Ethan staggered back, his stomach twisting violently. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The laws of this world don’t allow outsiders,” Orin explained. “I’m here, but I don’t belong. The world is already trying to reject me. If I stay, I’ll be bound, limited. But if I take your place…”

  Ethan’s breath stilled. “…What?”

  “I anchor myself here,” Orin said, calm but certain. “And in return, you take mine.”

  Ethan barely heard his own breath.

  “This isn’t an easy trade,” Orin continued. “You give up your world. And I… will no longer be the man I was before.”

  Ethan’s chest tightened, thoughts spinning too fast to hold onto.

  “No. No, that’s—” His voice cracked. “You don’t just erase someone.”

  Orin didn’t waver.

  “This world won’t allow two of us. If I stay, the laws will reject me. But if I take your place, I can act freely.” His voice lowered slightly. “And you… will have a chance to save her.”

  Ethan’s throat tightened.

  He had been ready to give anything for Eve.

  But this—this was different.

  This wasn’t just leaving.

  This was erasing himself.

  Gone.

  No memories. No traces.

  No second chances.

  The weight of it settled over him like a suffocating fog.

  If he agreed, the world would move on without him.

  No one would search for him. No one would even know he was missing.

  A cold, hollow silence stretched between them.

  And for the first time since this nightmare began—

  Ethan felt afraid.

  Not of dying. Not of losing everything.

  But of becoming nothing.