Anthonio's soul roamed the face of the earth, untethered and restless.
He drifted through cities that never slept and roads that led nowhere, through hospitals heavy with grief and homes hollowed by loss. He felt everything and nothing at once—voices passing through him, faces blurring, time stretching thin. He could not touch, could not speak, could not rest.
Time did not move forward for him. It folded in on itself. Days collapsed into seconds. Nights stretched endlessly. He passed through walls, through memories, through moments that were never his. People brushed past him, unaware, living lives he could no longer reach.
He was searching.
Not for peace.
For a body.
A vessel empty enough to hold him.
He felt the pull before he understood it. A sudden heaviness in the air. A crack in the flow of things. Something breaking. Something ending.
Then the sound came.
A long, flat tone slicing through the air.
The cardiac monitor stopped beeping.
Justin's mother screamed as the sound registered in her mind. Her knees gave way, and she collapsed beside the hospital bed, clutching her son's arm.
"No—no—you can't just go, Justin!" she sobbed. "Please—please—"
Her voice echoed down the corridor, raw and unrestrained. Nurses rushed in first, followed by doctors moving with grim efficiency. One checked for a pulse. Another looked at the monitor, then at the clock on the wall.
"He's gone," one of them said quietly. "Time of death—"
Justin's body jerked.
The doctor froze.
Justin gasped violently, choking as his eyes flew open. His chest rose sharply as if dragged back by force. The machines sprang back to life, beeping frantically, the flat line shattering into erratic movement.
His mother screamed again, this time in disbelief.
"Justin?" she cried, grabbing his face. "Justin, baby—can you hear me?"
Justin stared at his hands.
They felt wrong.
Too heavy.
Too solid.
His fingers twitched slowly, as if he were learning how to use them for the first time. The room felt unfamiliar, distorted, like a place he had stepped into by mistake.
The doctor shone a penlight into his eyes, checking pupil response, waving fingers in front of his face, assessing neurological function—testing reflexes, awareness, responsiveness. These were standard procedures for someone waking after months in a coma.
"Justin?" his mother pleaded. "I'm your mother."
He looked at her.
Confusion clouded his face.
"I never had a mother," he murmured faintly. "She's dead."
Her breath hitched.
The doctor exchanged a glance with the nurse. This was not uncommon—memory confusion, dissociation, fragmented recall. But something about the way he said it sent a quiet unease through the room.
"I want to go home," Justin said suddenly.
His head throbbed violently, pain crashing behind his eyes like a migraine. The lights felt too bright. The sounds too loud. The doctors steadied him, adjusting his IV, checking his vitals, administering mild sedatives to calm his system and prevent shock.
"He's been unconscious for five months," the doctor said carefully. "He can't be discharged tonight."
Justin's body stilled.
But Anthonio's soul had already settled.
June woke up with her head pounding.
The first thing she noticed was the cold.
The second was the voices.
They overlapped, low and urgent, fading in and out like static. Her eyelids felt heavy, her body slow to respond. When she finally forced her eyes open, bright light stabbed into her vision.
She found herself surrounded by her colleagues, their faces hovering above her, blurred with concern. Some were crouched, others standing back, whispering to each other.
She blinked, trying to focus.
"You're awake," someone said.
Her throat was dry. "What… happened?"
"You fainted," Kate replied. "We found you near the cave."
June pushed herself up slowly, ignoring the dull ache in her wrist and the strange heaviness in her chest. Her heart was still racing, her breath shallow. She searched their faces, wondering what they had seen, what they might have noticed.
She said nothing about the tomb.
Nothing about the light.
Nothing about the insects.
She stayed quiet during the short medical check, answering questions vaguely, insisting she was fine. The explanation—dehydration, exhaustion—was accepted easily. No one pressed her further.
By the time dusk settled in, they were already heading back, riding the same bus that had brought them from the small clinic near the mountain. Outside the windows, the silhouette of Mount Appalachian loomed dark and silent, its slopes swallowed by shadow.
No one spoke much. Everyone was tired.
June sat by the window, watching the trees blur past, her reflection staring back at her. Every now and then, her wrist throbbed beneath the bandage. She wrapped her fingers around it, grounding herself.
Back at the office, people split off quietly, grabbing bags, muttering quick goodbyes, eager to be home.
Joel stopped beside June. "I can drive you."
She shook her head quickly. "Um… you don't need to, Joel. I'm okay. You should get going—it's late."
"But June, it's past ten."
"I'll call my brother," she said. "He'll come get me."
Joel hesitated, studying her face, then nodded. "Alright. Get home safe."
"You too," she said softly, a small smile on her lips—her mind still replaying the cave, the way the air had felt wrong inside it.
She pulled out her phone and stared at the time.
Then she called Noah.
"Come get me," she said. "I'm at my workplace, please."
"Okay," Noah replied. "I'll be there in an hour."
Her eyes widened. "God, Noah! An hour? Why would you take that long—"
The call ended.
She stared at the screen, then scoffed. "Ahh, you're such an asshole."
Footsteps echoed behind her.
June turned.
Her heart nearly stopped.
A man stood there, watching her. She hadn't heard him approach. She hadn't noticed him before.
"Don't freak out yet," he said calmly.
Her blood ran cold.
"Oh, I see," he continued, smirking. "You woke him. I just hope you don't become as unfortunate as he is."
She stared at him, speechless, fear locking her body in place.
He scoffed and walked away, disappearing into the night as suddenly as he had appeared.
Noah arrived shortly after.
She climbed into the car without a word, slamming the door harder than necessary. The engine started, and they pulled onto the road.
The silence stretched.
Noah glanced at her wrist. "What happened?"
"Forget it," June said. "It's nothing."
She leaned back, closing her eyes briefly. "How was your conversation with Uncle?"
Noah exhaled, then narrated—about the company, the responsibility, the expectations. About how Uncle Smith had looked at him, serious and unyielding.
"You're capable," Uncle Smith had said. "Just like your father."
Noah had accepted.
"Wanna see something?" Noah asked suddenly, a crooked smile forming as he pulled out a bottle of whiskey.
"Oh my God, Noah—you can't be drinking and driving!"
"Oh yes, I can."
He took another swig.
She snatched the bottle, hesitated, then laughed despite herself.
They kept driving.
Music filled the car. They sang loudly, badly, joking, teasing. Noah talked about how strict his uncle was, mimicking his voice, making June laugh until her stomach hurt.
The bottle passed between them.
The road stretched on, dark and mostly empty. June felt warm now, loose, her thoughts drifting. The night blurred at the edges.
Justin woke again.
The hospital room was quiet.
His mother slept in the chair beside the bed, exhaustion pulling her into uneasy rest. Machines hummed softly, their steady rhythm almost comforting.
Justin sat up.
His body protested—weak, stiff—but the urge inside him was stronger. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feet touching the cold floor.
This place was wrong.
He stood, steadying himself, and glanced once at the woman sleeping beside him.
Mother.
The word felt foreign.
He moved slowly at first, then faster, slipping out of the room, down the corridor, through the exit doors.
Cold night air hit his face.
He ran.
Still in hospital clothes, barefoot, confused, he fled into the darkness, his breath ragged, his mind fractured. Streetlights flickered overhead. The road stretched ahead of him, empty and unforgiving.
The road curved.
Noah laughed at something June said, eyes briefly off the road.
June leaned forward. "Noah—"
Justin stepped into the street.
Headlights washed over him.
Impact.
The car slammed to a halt with a sickening jolt.
June screamed.
"Oh my God," Noah whispered. "No… no…"
They jumped out immediately.
A man lay on the road, motionless, blood pooling beneath him, hospital clothes torn and darkened.
"My God, Noah, what have you done?" June cried.
Noah stood frozen, shock hollowing him out.
June dropped to her knees, pressing her fingers to the man's neck.
"He's breathing," she said urgently. "Barely."
Noah's voice shook. "What do we do?"