"Because of you..." His gaze sharpens - hard as ice, sharp as glass.

  "Grace is going to die."

  Chapter 7

  White Lies & Dark Consequences

  "What?"

  The words hit me like a punch to the chest. My breath stumbles, my ribs locking tight.

  What does he mean Grace is going to die?

  And worse... because of me?

  I stare at the man in front of me. White.

  He looks like me. Same face, same build. But colder. Like someone drained all the warmth from his eyes and left nothing but ice. His stare cuts through me, sharp and accusing, like he's already decided this is my fault. Like Grace is already gone, and I let it happen.

  No... no, that's not true...

  "You're lying," I snap. But my voice falters.

  White doesn’t flinch. Doesn't blink. Just stares. Empty.

  Not her... not Grace...

  My pulse pounds in my skull. Memories flash. Her smile. Her voice. Her laugh, warm and full of life.

  Gone?

  I stagger back, legs locking up. My chest burns, my breath scraping against my throat.

  "No..." The word barely escapes, thin and broken.

  Then something snaps. A dam bursting.

  "You're lying!" I snarl, heat surging through me. "You're just trying to mess with me!"

  White doesn't react. Doesn't even blink. Just stares back, cold and distant, like I’m nothing.

  That look. Detached. Uncaring, ignites something sharp and bitter inside me. My hands curl into fists so tight my nails dig into my palms. My pulse roars in my ears.

  "How dare you..." The words come out low and strained, like they're being forced through my teeth.

  "How dare you stand there like this isn't real... like Grace is just... gone..."

  The world blurs at the edges. All I see is him, that face that's supposed to be mine, only colder, sharper. Like he's stripped away everything that made me human and left something hollow behind.

  My muscles coil, my body trembling, breath ragged and shallow.

  "You think I'm just going to accept that?" My voice rises, breaking as it spills out. "You think I'll just stand here while you"

  "You already have."

  His words cut deeper than a knife, like he'd reached inside me and ripped something loose.

  The rage surges again, too big to contain - a furious knot of grief, guilt, and disbelief clawing to escape.

  You bastard

  I plant my feet. My arm pulls back on instinct, muscles tightening like coiled wire.

  "How dare you!"

  I throw my fist forward with everything I have. Every ounce of anger, guilt, and desperation.

  "I WILL NEVER HURT GRACE."

  My knuckles tear through the air, fast and reckless.

  But White doesn’t move.

  Not a blink. Not a flinch. Just that same cold stare, like he knew exactly what I'd do.

  And then — he's gone.

  A shift of his weight. A twist of his heel. My punch cuts through empty air, and my own momentum drags me forward.

  I stumble, chest heaving, heart racing. My ribs are wide open. I know it, and so does he.

  White’s eyes lock on mine. Calm. Detached. His hand twitches at his side.

  He could end this right now. Ribs. Heart. Throat. Anywhere.

  But he doesn’t.

  He just stands there... like I’m not even worth it.

  That stare burrows into me, colder than any punch could have been. The rage that burned so fiercely sputters out, leaving something heavier behind.

  Humiliation.

  My legs give out, and I hit the floor. My arm twists awkwardly beneath me, breath ragged.

  This bastard... this...

  But the fire is gone. All that’s left is the weight in my chest — crushing, suffocating.

  I grit my teeth, fighting back tears. I couldn’t even land a hit. The rage that kept me standing is gone, and in its place is something worse. Something bitter and hollow.

  Why... whyyy...

  I can’t lift my head. Can’t bring myself to look at him. Maybe he’s still standing there, maybe he’s already turned away. I don’t know.

  I don’t want to know.

  The cold floor presses against my face — unrelenting, unmoved. And still better than I am.

  How can I face him... how can I face anyone?

  I can't even land a punch.

  Can I save anyone... I’m just a fool on the floor.

  Tears streak my face. My breath shudders out of me.

  And then I hear it - a voice sharp as a blade.

  "If you're done feeling sorry for yourself, we have work to do. You want Grace to live, don't you?"

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  White.

  Something twists inside me - something bitter and sharp.

  First you blame me for her death... now you want to team up?

  Almost choke on the thought. Anger stirs again, weaker than before but still burning. My breath hitches, and suddenly... I laugh.

  A dry, broken laugh. One breath. Then another. Heh... heh... hahaha...

  Pathetic.

  I press my hand to my face. My fingers tremble, but my tears are gone, replaced by something colder. Something I can use.

  "You need me," I mutter, barely loud enough for him to hear. My voice cracks, but I force the words out. "This place... whatever it is... you need me to fix it, don't you?"

  I push myself to my feet, still not looking at him. My body feels heavier than before, but I keep moving.

  I turn to face him, forcing myself to meet his cold stare.

  White doesn't answer. Just stares.

  And that's how I know I'm right.

  I don't know how I know - but I do. Something clicks inside me, something certain.

  For a moment, I forget why I even came here. The twisted satisfaction of being right feels too good.

  White stares at me with that same cold glare.

  "On second thought," he says, "I don’t actually need you. You're no different from anyone else. All you do is wear my face."

  It's the other way around, asshole... I think in my mind but I'm sure he heard it.

  "You," he continues, "are nothing like me. You're emotional. Weak. Every thought that crosses your mind becomes your next move. No control. No focus."

  He steps closer, his voice lowering.

  "You're a hot-headed fool who thinks the world bends to his feelings."

  My nails dig into my palms. My chest tightens.

  How far is he going to push me... is he trying to make me snap?

  "You know nothing about me!" I snarl.

  White's smile widens — cold and smug.

  "Exactly," he says. "That's why I tested you."

  His eyes narrow.

  "And you failed."

  He pauses, like he's savoring the words.

  "If this was enough to break you, you won’t survive here."

  His gaze hardens.

  "Teaming up with you would be a mistake."

  I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off.

  "In a place like this, emotions will kill you. Fear. Guilt. Rage. They’ll eat you alive if you let them. You want to save Grace? Then learn this. Suffering isn’t something you endure. It’s the cost of survival. Every step forward comes with a price. Pain is part of the balance, you can’t outrun it, only decide what you're willing to lose."

  His words stab deeper than I’d expected.

  "Someone like you..." He shakes his head. "You'll get yourself, and everyone else, killed."

  He turns away.

  "I’ve already wasted enough time on you."

  I snap.

  "So all of this... all of it... was just a test?" My voice rises. "You claimed Grace was going to die. You blamed me. Just to test me? How dare you even say that! Unlike you, even though I’ve only been here a day, I actually"

  "She is going to die," White cuts in. "What I said was true. How I said it... that was the test."

  The words hit harder than a punch.

  The pain twists deeper.

  "With your arrival," White continues, "something changed. I don’t know why. I don’t know how. But things are different now." He exhales sharply, like the words taste bitter.

  "Most likely for the worst," he says. "But you... you did something no one else has. No one’s ever changed anything here before, and for a moment, I thought maybe... maybe there was hope."

  His gaze hardens.

  "But in a place like this, a mistake can cost everything. Time is crucial, and I can’t waste a second of it. So I had to know for sure. I had to test you."

  He steps back, voice cold and final.

  "And now I know... you’re not it."

  He exhales sharply, like speaking to me is exhausting.

  "I don't owe you an explanation," White says. "But I don't want you making things worse either."

  "Follow me or don't," he adds, voice flat. "But know this, if you get in my way, you won't get a second warning."

  White turns around, presses his palm on the door, and steps inside without a word. The door creaks as it swings open, then clicks shut behind him.

  I stand there, unsure what to do. As if being trapped in this place wasn’t bad enough, everything else, even the people, just makes it worse. It's like someone rubbing salt on my open wound.

  But Grace... she's the only one who makes this place bearable. I can’t lose her. I can’t imagine this place without her.

  I need to do this. No matter what.

  With that, I push the door open and step inside.

  The scent hits me first. A familiar fragrance, like the house I woke up in this morning. The wooden walls are smooth, every plank carefully fitted. Unlike the other homes here, thrown together just to survive, this place feels intentional. There's nothing extravagant inside. A bed, a table, some chairs, a few shelves, and a couple of doors and windows. All that glory outside. Yet this... this feels empty

  White pulls out a wooden chair and sits down, resting his hands on the table. Another chair waits across from him — mine.

  I sit and study him. He looks just like me, but now his hair... it wasn’t like that before. I stare long enough for him to notice.

  “I did it so people could tell us apart,” he says. “I don’t want us causing confusion. Besides...” He gestures at his hair. “It suits my name.”

  I glance back at his face. It makes sense, I guess. But was it really that important for people to tell us apart?

  “I know you have a lot of questions,” White says. “I might even answer a few. But first...” He leans forward slightly. “I have some questions of my own.”

  My muscles tense.

  “I overheard your name at breakfast,” he says. “Black, isn’t it?”

  I nod.

  “Interesting...” He pauses, then asks, “Who are you, really?”

  I frown. Shouldn't I be the one asking questions? He doesn’t trust me yet — that much is clear. Maybe he thinks I’m a threat. Maybe I am, and I just don’t know it yet.

  Can I even tell him the truth? Our names — Black and White — this can’t be a coincidence. Someone else is at play here... I know it.

  White smiles faintly. “Well, as you know, my name is White. I’m 25 years old. A high school teacher. Science.”

  He pauses just long enough for the words to sink in.

  “I know how to break things down,” he adds, “and how to build them back up.”

  I blink. He’s seven years older than me... and a teacher? I despise school. Teachers played a big role in that. This man is nothing like me... unless he’s lying.

  But this isn’t the time for mind games. People’s lives are at stake.

  “My name is Black,” I say. “I’m 17, and I hate school.” I hesitate, unsure if I should go on. But if I keep quiet, I know I won’t get any answers.

  “Before I came here... I don’t know if it was a dream or something else, but I woke up on a day that shouldnt exist, May 32. Then I was... waking up again. Like I was trapped — stuck inside something dark, cold, and... wrong. It felt like something grabbed me, tore me apart, and stitched me back together.”

  I clench my fists. “When I woke up on the beach, my body still hurt. Whatever happened... it wasn’t just a dream.”

  I look at White, waiting for him to share his side.

  “Well,” White says, “everyone here wakes up on a date that shouldn’t exist. But here... that day is real. It exists.”

  He pauses.

  “They escape a nightmare, reach the beach, and follow the moons light through the forest. Then they find this place and a dead body. That is how it works.”

  I stare at him, my chest tightening.

  But none of that matters right now. Not compared to what he said earlier.

  “What did you mean,” I ask, my voice low, “when you said Grace is going to die? And what do you mean... because of me?”

  White’s gaze sharpens. His expression hardens like stone.

  “You saw that crack in the sky, didn’t you?”

  I swallow. “The red glow?”

  He nods.

  “That happens when someone is going to die,” White says. “It appears ten days before, and once a month when someone is due. When they die, it turns white... invisible to us, and it vanishes. But that crack... with your arrival, there’s already another glow.”

  Something doesn’t sit right. “And how does that connect to Grace?”

  White leans back, folding his arms. "You're slower than I thought," he says coldly. "Everyone here gets a year. Thirteen months, and they're gone. Grace is next." He pauses, his gaze sharpening. "She should have had another month, but thanks to you, that red crack in the sky is already here."

  I stare at him, blank and emotionless.

  He expects me to break down. To panic, to cry, to crumble like some worthless, pathetic idiot. Maybe he thinks I'll beg. Or maybe he thinks I'll blame myself for everything, sputtering out desperate promises I can’t keep. Or maybe he’s waiting for me to shout, to lash out in some messy, pointless tantrum. Something loud. Something stupid.

  That's what people expect from guys like me. Emotional. Reckless. Too hot-headed to think straight. The kind of guy who acts first and thinks later. The kind who slams doors and storms out because it's easier than dealing with the mess in his head.

  But I’m tired of it. Tired of being the idiot who panics. Tired of being the fool who snaps and makes things worse. I’ve done that before. More times than I care to admit. But I learned. I learned how to swallow the chaos and think through it. I learned to stay calm when everything’s crashing down.

  He doesn’t know that the worse things get, the sharper I get. He doesn’t know that when I stop reacting, that’s when I’m most dangerous.

  I stare at him, cold as ice.

  Then I say the words that shake him.

  "You're lying."

  His face tightens. He wasn’t ready for that.

  I see it now — behind all that smugness, he’s just as fragile as me. But why? Why would he lie? Another test? No. This is something else.

  He stays silent, watching me carefully, like he's afraid to speak without knowing which part of his bluff I caught.

  But I don't have a problem with that. I'll spell it out for him.

  “You know how I know?” I say. “Because of the same woman you’re trying to save.”

  His expression hardens.

  "You were here before Grace," I say, my voice low. "The way she looks at you... the way she trusts you... even your silence weighs on her." I let the words hang, sharp and heavy.

  "If everyone here only has a year... and you were here before Grace..." I step closer, locking eyes with him. "You should be dead by now."

  "So tell me..." I pause, letting the words hang. "Isn't that correct... or is this suddenly another one of your tests?"