Chapter 9: The Edge
798 Words
“…there might not be anything left to come back to.”
The words didn’t feel real.
But everything else did.
The stuttering street. The repeating footsteps. The quiet pressure pressing in from all sides, like something tightening its grip.
Removing.
My chest tightened. “You mean I just—what—disappear?”
He didn’t answer.
That silence said enough.
“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head. “That’s not how anything works.”
“Not usually,” he said.
Usually.
The word twisted in my stomach.
The world flickered again—shorter this time. Sharper. Like whatever held it together was thinning.
“You said this was me,” I said. “That I’m doing this.”
“Yes.”
“Then stop me.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?” My voice cracked. “If I’m the problem—”
“You’re also the only reason any of this is still here.”
I froze. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated, then said carefully, “They haven’t removed you because you’re… useful.”
A cold weight settled in my chest. “Useful for what?”
“They don’t know what you are yet.”
Something about that made my skin prickle. “And you do?”
A pause.
“…enough.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one you’re getting right now.”
The pressure surged again—sharper this time. My head throbbed with it.
“You keep saying ‘right now,’” I said. “Like there’s some version of this where you can explain it.”
“There is.”
“Then when?”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Before this breaks.”
A beat passed.
Then—
The world lurched.
Not a flicker.
A tear.
It started small—a distortion in the air behind him, like heat rising off pavement.
Then it widened.
The space bent inward, folding into itself like something pulling from the other side.
My breath caught. “What is that?”
His expression changed instantly. “Too fast.”
“What is it?” I pressed.
He stepped slightly in front of me. “That’s where they correct it.”
My stomach dropped. “Correct what?”
“Errors.”
The word hit harder than it should have.
Another pull—
The tear widened.
And for a second—
I saw something through it.
Not clearly. Not fully.
But enough.
Movement. Shapes that didn’t stay still long enough to understand.
And something else—
Something looking back.
I staggered. “It’s not empty.”
“I know.”
“Then what is it?”
His voice lowered.
“Where things go when they’re removed.”
The pressure spiked violently.
My vision blurred. “No. I’m not—”
The tear shifted.
Closer.
Not moving through space—
Just suddenly nearer.
“If it locks onto you—” he started.
“Then what?”
He didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
I could feel it now.
That same absence from before—but focused. Aimed.
Like something had noticed me.
“Why is it—”
“Because you looked at it,” he said sharply.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“It doesn’t matter.”
The edges of the tear flickered, unstable—like it was deciding.
My pulse pounded. “Do something!”
“I am.”
He grabbed my wrist again—harder this time.
Not careful.
Desperate.
“Don’t look at it.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
Another pull.
Stronger.
My body leaned forward before I could stop it.
Like gravity had shifted.
“No—”
My grip tightened on him. “Stop it!”
“I’m trying!”
The world began collapsing inward—loops breaking, sound warping, everything pulling toward that single point.
And the worst part—
It felt familiar.
Like I’d been here before.
“This isn’t the first time,” I said.
His grip tightened.
“No,” he said.
The tear surged—
The pull sharpened—
And just before everything tipped—
He yanked me back.
Hard.
The world snapped.
Sound crashed in.
Motion returned all at once.
The street—
Normal.
No tear. No loops. No distortion.
Just people. Cars. Noise.
Like nothing had happened.
I stumbled, barely steady.
My heart raced like I’d been running.
“What—” I gasped. “What just—”
“Don’t,” he said immediately.
I looked at him.
His expression had changed.
Not urgency.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Dread.
“That was too close,” he said quietly.
My hands were still shaking. “What was too close?”
His eyes met mine.
“You remembering.”
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