Chapter 13: The Vanishing Words

Cass gasped awake.

His body jerked, a sharp, desperate inhale tearing through his lungs like he'd just surfaced from drowning. The room was too dark, too still, his ears still ringing with the last remnants of the dream—the explosion, the falling sky, the Cat People closing in.

And her voice.

"Wake up."

His chest heaved, sweat dampening the back of his neck. His hands clutched the sheets, trembling, his pulse hammering against his ribs.

The fear didn't fade.

Not this time.

Cass sat up slowly, wiping a shaky hand down his face. The dream had been so real. He could still feel the burning air in his lungs, the weight of the metal device in his hands, the way the ground had trembled beneath his feet right before everything collapsed.

He needed to see the notebook.

Now.

Cass threw the covers off, pushing himself up on unsteady legs. He moved without thinking, without pausing, his body still riding the edge of adrenaline. His bare feet met the cold floor as he padded through the dark hallway, the wooden boards creaking beneath his weight.

The house was silent.

The kind of silence that felt wrong.

His breath was shallow as he reached the kitchen, yanking the drawer open. His fingers closed around the notebook, pulling it free. The weight of it in his hands grounded him—proof that he had written it. That it hadn't been erased.

Cass opened the cover.

His eyes flicked to the first page.

And his breath stopped.

The words were gone.

His entire body locked up. His pulse roared in his ears as he stared at the empty page, the blank, untouched paper where his name had been.

No.

No, that wasn't—

He had written it. He had pressed down hard with the pen, had felt the ink bleed into the page. It had been real.

But now—

Cass turned the page.

Blank.

Another.

Blank.

Another—

His breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, his fingers trembling as he flipped through, searching, searching, praying that something was still there—

Then he saw it.

One page.

One single page left.

The words weren't gone.

They were fading.

The ink was thinning, bleeding out, the letters unraveling like the page itself was rejecting them.

My name is Cassian Voss.

Cass pressed his fingers to the words—his words—but even as he touched them, they continued to vanish.

His pulse slammed against his skull.

This wasn't like before. This wasn't just erasure.

It was happening in real-time.

Cass staggered back, his vision swimming, his breathing too shallow. His body felt like it was unraveling with the ink, like something inside him was being peeled away, thread by thread.

He needed to stop it.

He grabbed the pen, pressing the tip against the paper—but the ink wouldn't take.

The pen wouldn't write.

Cass's stomach plummeted.

A sharp, cold terror coiled in his chest.

Then, a thought slithered in—dark and horrible.

What if this is what happened to Jonathan Carlisle?

What if this is how it started?

The notebook shook in his grip. Cass squeezed his eyes shut, forcing a breath into his lungs. Think. Focus.

They hadn't erased the notebook completely.

Which meant something was resisting.

And if something could resist—then so could he.

His hands still trembled as he grabbed another pen from the counter. A different one. A cheap ballpoint. He flipped to a fresh page and pressed down—

This time, the ink stayed.

Cass exhaled, his entire body shaking.

He started writing, fast, frantic, scratching the letters deep into the page.

October 5th (I think.)

They tried to erase it.

My name was gone when I woke up.

The words faded, like they were being pulled out of existence.

But it didn't take all the way.

Something is stopping them.

Something is fighting back.

Or maybe… maybe it's just me.

Maybe I'm holding onto this too hard.

Maybe that's why they haven't erased me yet.

But if I start forgetting—if my name vanishes completely—

Then I need to remember this:

I was here.

I wrote this.

I exist.

I don't know how much longer that will be true.

Cass let out a ragged breath, staring at the words, waiting—waiting to see if they would vanish, waiting to see if the page would betray him.

But they didn't.

The ink stayed.

For now.

His muscles finally released, exhaustion crashing down on him all at once. His arms ached, his head throbbed, his entire body felt wrung out.

Cass let the pen fall from his fingers.

He had bought himself time.

But time wasn't enough.

If they could erase his name, if they could erase Jonathan Carlisle, if they could make an entire street disappear overnight—

Then they weren't just changing reality.

They were rewriting it.

And he was running out of chances to stop it.

Cass let out a slow, unsteady breath, pressing his palm against the cover of the notebook.

This is real.

I am real.

He had to believe that.

Because if he didn't—

Then they'd win.

And he would fade.

End of Chapter 13.