You opened this book. That was your first mistake.
Not that you’ll stop reading now. Something pulls you forward—curiosity, fear, or maybe something you don’t understand yet.
The town looks ordinary. Cars parked along quiet streets. Doors closed. Kids walking to school. But the air feels heavy, like it’s holding a secret.
You feel eyes on you, though no one is there. Only shadows stretch along walls, moving as if they have their own plan.
School is the same. Teachers teach, friends laugh, the clock ticks. But small questions creep in: Why does this hallway feel unfamiliar? Why does that classroom seem… different?
You tell yourself it’s nothing. But the unease won’t leave. You feel it in your chest, in the echo of your footsteps, in the quiet that shouldn’t be so quiet.
By the end of the day, the little impossibilities will grow. Small cracks that shouldn’t exist, stretching across everything you thought you knew. And when they connect, you’ll understand: reality is lying to you.
And maybe—just maybe—this book is lying too.
ns216.73.216.89da2
and then Add to home screen.