I didn't ask for any of this. I didn't ask for cryptic men with stormcloud eyes showing up in the middle of downpours, or factories that hum with a life of their own. I definitely didn't ask for a journal full of symbols that seem to shift under my fingertips—like they're alive, watching me. But here I am, standing in the middle of a crumbling city, with whispers clawing at my heels and secrets I can't outrun. My father warned me to leave, but I'm no good at walking away. Especially when every shadow I chase only leads me closer to answers I'm not sure I want. Maybe the man in black is right—maybe I'm tangled in something ancient, something alive. Or maybe I'm just too stubborn to turn back. Either way, I've got one choice: face what's waiting for me... or let it consume me whole.