Invitation

September 26th, 12:02 AM - Ash's Apartment

Ash didn't move. His breathing was steady, measured but his mind raced, dissecting every possibility.

The figure outside his window hadn't moved in minutes. It stood beneath the streetlamp, just beyond the glow, its silhouette warped by the faint flickering of the light. Ash couldn't make out its features. He wasn't even sure it had any.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, the streetlamp went out.

Darkness swallowed the figure. The hum of the city seemed to fade, as if reality itself held its breath. When the light sputtered back on, the street was empty.

Ash exhaled slowly. He hadn't realized he was gripping the desk until he felt the strain in his fingers.

He turned back to the black book. The ink had settled, the words unmoving.

You have already been seen.

The weight of those words pressed against him, heavier than any physical force. He ran a hand over his face and muttered to himself, "What does that even mean?" He closed the book, pushed it aside. He needed answers, not riddles.

It was ridiculous, wasn't it? The mind played tricks under stress. Perhaps he was letting paranoia latch onto nonsense, forcing meaning where there was none. A perfectly human response grasping at shadows to avoid confronting the possibility that there were, in fact, no shadows at all. That would be convenient. And yet, convenience had never been a luxury afforded to him.

Everett Miren. That was his next thread to pull.

10:30 AM - Veridion University Archives

Ash had barely slept. The morning felt unreal, as if he were still caught between waking and dreaming. He moved through the university with purpose, head low, thoughts coiled tight. If Vincent Darren had been erased, then Everett Miren a professor whose name had nearly vanished was his next lead.

The university archives were quiet, almost unnervingly so. The scent of old paper filled the air, and fluorescent lights buzzed overhead with a rhythmic hum. Ash skimmed the index, searching for faculty records.

Miren, Everett.

There was a file. Not much, but enough. His fingers traced the tab before he pulled it free.

The first page was standard a faculty profile, a brief career summary. But the second page was different.

A report.

Dr. Everett Miren's tenure at Veridion University has been formally revoked due to an unauthorized investigation into restricted materials. Faculty and students are advised that any remaining documents or correspondences should be reported immediately.

Ash's pulse quickened. Unauthorized investigation? Into what?

There was something else. A book request form. A single title, handwritten at the bottom:

"The Concordia Index."

Ash frowned. He had never heard of it before, but something about the name felt wrong. As if simply reading it had shifted something in his mind, like a door opening a crack where there had been only a wall.

He flipped the page. There was a final note at the bottom, barely legible:

Last seen: September 26th.

His breath hitched. That was today.

1:15 PM - The Hidden Record

If the Concordia Index was important enough to be erased, then Ash had to find it before the Correction did.

He tried searching the library's catalog, but the moment he typed in the name, the screen flickered. A brief error message. Then, the search results were empty.

As if the book had never existed.

Ash scoffed. Of course. Why would reality ever make things easy? The only thing more cliché than a hidden book was a mysteriously erased hidden book. If this was some elaborate joke at his expense, he wanted the punchline now.

Moving through the aisles, he traced his fingers along the spines of books. The library was strangely quiet too quiet. He caught sight of the librarian at the front desk, but she wasn't watching him. Instead, her hands rested on the counter, fingers still, posture unnervingly rigid.

He swallowed down the uneasy feeling and kept searching.

Then

Something off.

A gap between the books.

Like something had been there but was removed. A vacant space in a row of perfectly aligned texts.

He reached into it. His fingertips brushed against something thin, something almost weightless. He pulled it free.

Not a book. A page. Torn, crumpled, but intact.

His hands unfolded it carefully. Faint ink remained, scrawled in hurried strokes:

"They are not just erasing people. They are erasing the questions."

Ash's grip tightened. He scanned the rest of the shelf, hoping to find more, but the silence behind him suddenly felt pressured as if something had just taken notice of his presence.

He turned, but the library was still.

Still except for the librarian, whose gaze was now fixed directly on him.

7:00 PM - Ash's Apartment

Ash locked his door the moment he stepped inside. His breathing was steady, but beneath the surface, his nerves were taut.

On his desk, the black book sat where he had left it. The words on the last page remained unchanged. But Ash no longer trusted that it would stay that way.

He carefully unfolded the torn page he had found and placed it beside his notes. They are not just erasing people. They are erasing the questions.

That meant Miren's disappearance wasn't just about what he found it was about what he was trying to ask.

And Ash had just asked the same thing.

A chill crawled up his spine. He was now part of the same equation.

He grabbed his pen, flipped open his journal, and wrote down two things:

1. Find out what happened to Everett Miren.

2. Find the Concordia Index.

As soon as he finished writing, his phone buzzed.

Unknown Number.

His fingers hovered over the screen. He let it ring twice before answering.

A pause. Then, a voice.

Not human. Not distorted. Something in-between.

"You were never supposed to remember."

The call ended.

But this time, the silence didn't stretch.

This time, there was a knock at his door.

Ash's breath hitched. He turned slowly, staring at the entrance of his apartment. The knock came again, deliberate and calm, as if whoever was on the other side had all the time in the world.

He moved cautiously, standing just a foot away. No peephole. No way to see.

A voice followed, muffled through the door.

"Mr. Mercier. We should talk."

The calmness in the tone was worse than any threat. It carried certainty.

Ash hesitated, fingers hovering over the lock. Then, ever so slightly, he cracked open the door.

A man stood there. Dressed sharply but unremarkably someone who could blend into a crowd and disappear. His features were clean, precise, but his eyes held depth, as if he had seen far more than any ordinary person should.

Behind him stood the librarian, expressionless.

The man smiled faintly. "Invite us in, Mr. Mercier. It's time you learned what's really at stake."