Chapter 9: The House That Burns

Cass barely remembered finishing his workday.

Everything after that last message—the one that told him he wasn't supposed to remember—blurred together in a haze. His hands had moved mechanically, typing just enough to look busy, but his mind never left the screen. Never left the absence of a record that should have existed.

Even the walk home felt… artificial.

The streetlights flickered just a little too perfectly. The crowd moved in a rhythm that felt orchestrated. The noises of the city blended into a single, droning hum, like the background static of a recording.

Like he was moving through something designed to feel real.

But it wasn't.

By the time he reached his front door, his pulse had finally slowed, exhaustion pressing into him like a weighted blanket. He let himself inside, forcing a breath through his nose.

Warmth.

The distant sound of cartoons playing in the living room. The faint smell of something home-cooked lingering in the air. Reality.

His wife's voice called from the kitchen. "Babe?"

Cass shut the door behind him. Ground yourself. "Yeah, I'm home."

Vera came sprinting around the corner before he could take another step, launching herself at him like a tiny missile. Cass barely had time to brace before she collided into him, arms locking around his waist.

"You're late," she mumbled against his shirt.

Cass let out a low chuckle, ruffling her hair. "Didn't know I was on a schedule."

She pulled back and squinted up at him. "You look weird."

Cass smirked, though it felt weak. "Thanks, kid."

Vera didn't laugh. She just stared at him, serious in that way only children could be, studying him with an intensity that made his skin itch.

Before he could say anything, Logan wandered in, barely glancing up from his handheld game. "Did you bring food?"

Cass snorted. "Hello to you too."

Logan sighed dramatically. "Hello, Father. Did you bring food?"

His wife stepped into view before Cass could answer, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Dinner's already done, Logan." She shot Cass a look. "You okay?"

Cass hesitated.

No.

No, he wasn't.

But he couldn't tell her about the name that shouldn't exist. Couldn't tell her about the text that had disappeared, the street that had vanished, the way he wasn't sure if the world around him was even real anymore.

So he forced a tired smile and lied.

"Yeah. Just a long day."

His wife studied him for a second longer than he liked, but finally, she nodded. "Well, eat first. Then go collapse."

Cass kissed her temple as he passed, ignoring the way his hands still felt unsteady.

Dinner was warm. Familiar. The conversation light and easy—his wife complaining about work, Vera rambling about something she was drawing, Logan grumbling about the injustice of daily homework.

For a little while, Cass let himself sink into it. Let himself believe it.

Let himself hold onto reality.

But later that night, when he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling—

When sleep started pulling him under—

When the warmth of his home began to fade into something else—

He knew it wouldn't last.

Cass opened his eyes.

The air was thick with smoke.

His body moved before his mind caught up, instincts taking over as he surged forward, feet slamming against a wooden floor. Something was burning. The acrid stench filled his lungs, coating the inside of his throat with heat and ash.

He wasn't in his bed.

He wasn't in his house.

He was somewhere else.

The floorboards groaned beneath his weight as he staggered forward, eyes darting through the dense, shifting haze. Shapes flickered beyond the veil of smoke—walls, furniture, a hallway leading deeper into the house.

The flames had already spread.

Cass's heartbeat hammered in his ears. The heat pressed against his skin, sweat forming at his brow. A low creak echoed from above, and he instinctively ducked as a section of the ceiling collapsed, embers exploding outward in a shower of burning fragments.

His breath came in short, panicked gasps.

He had to get out.

But even as the rational part of his mind screamed at him to run, another part whispered something else—

This is familiar.

Cass gritted his teeth, pushing forward. The walls groaned as the fire consumed them, paint peeling, wood splitting apart with loud, echoing cracks. A hallway stretched ahead, warped by heat, but there was something at the end of it.

A door.

Cass lunged for it.

His fingers wrapped around the handle, but the moment he touched it—

He wasn't alone.

Something shifted behind him.

Not the fire. Not the collapsing walls.

Something else.

The hairs on his arms stood on end, his breath catching in his throat. Slowly, Cass turned his head—

A figure stood in the flames.

A silhouette, barely visible through the shifting heat.

Cass's pulse spiked. He stepped back, his grip tightening on the door handle. The figure didn't move. It just watched.

No, not watched.

It knew him.

The fire surged between them, a wave of heat forcing Cass to blink—

And when he opened his eyes again, the figure was gone.

The flames closed in, licking at the walls, the ceiling caving in.

Cass tore the door open and stumbled inside.

The moment he crossed the threshold—

Everything changed.

The heat was gone.

The fire was gone.

Cass staggered, nearly tripping over his own feet as the ground beneath him shifted. His breath came in uneven gasps, the afterimage of flames still burning in his vision.

But he was no longer inside a house.

He was standing in a field of black grass.

Wind swept through the endless expanse, but it wasn't natural. It whispered, carrying faint voices, sounds he couldn't quite make out. The sky above was wrong—deep violet streaked with curling tendrils of red, like open wounds in reality itself.

Cass turned.

Behind him, where the burning house should have been—

Was a doorway.

A single door, standing upright in the field, unattached to anything. Its edges were blackened with soot, but the fire was gone.

Cass swallowed hard. He took a slow step forward, heart hammering.

His own voice whispered in his mind.

If you fail, it resets.

The door creaked open.

And on the other side—

Someone was waiting for him.

A girl.

No—a woman.

Cass's breath caught. His mind stuttered, trying to place her, but the details slipped away the moment he reached for them. She stood just beyond the doorway, her expression unreadable, her features blurred as if reality couldn't quite decide what she looked like.

But her voice was clear.

Soft. Familiar.

"You're running out of time, Caleb."

Cass's stomach dropped.

He opened his mouth—

But before he could speak, before he could demand to know who she was, before he could do anything—

The dream collapsed.

Cass jerked awake with a sharp gasp.

His lungs burned. His skin was damp with sweat. The sensation of heat clung to him, the phantom scent of smoke lingering in his nose.

He wasn't in a burning house.

He was in his bed.

Safe. Normal. Real.

Except—

His hands were shaking.

His pulse thundered in his ears, adrenaline still coursing through his veins. The dream wasn't fading like a normal nightmare. The whispers, the sky, the figure in the fire—

And her.

His jaw clenched, his breath still uneven.

She had called him Caleb.

And for the first time, the name didn't just unsettle him.

It terrified him.

End of Chapter 9