Lying on a cot, Malric stirred, the scent of fresh air laced with undertones of bleach filling his nose.
Staring at the ceiling, he couldn't figure out what had happened to him. He remembered the headache—but that was strange. His slightly alien physiology had never failed him before.
"How do you feel? Do you still have that headache?"
A feminine voice drifted in from Malric's left.
Looking over, he saw the nurse, Gloriana Carver, filling out paperwork while tucking a blood pressure cuff into a drawer.
"Yeah—I mean, no. The headache's gone, Miss Carver," Malric corrected himself, still a little foggy.
Giving him a quick once-over, Gloriana nodded. "You should get back to class. I've still got others to attend to.
"Mmm. Will do, Miss Carver."
Malric eased off the cot and left the nurse's office.
Closing the door behind him, he stepped into the quiet hallway. Not quite ready to return to class, he slowed his pace and stopped in front of a carved wall.
The bas-relief depicted a man in a Roman breastplate, short-haired and commanding, pointing at an enemy vessel. Each ship was wide, lined with oarsmen and archers drawn in striking detail.
A plaque beneath it read:
"Marcus Agrippa at Actium, 31 BC – The Decisive Order."
Malric studied the carving. The way the lines curved and converged felt… familiar. Odd.
Certain junctions of the stonework seemed to pulse with attention, and faint symbols surfaced from nowhere—just for a moment.
Then came a flash of pain. His headache flared—brief, sharp—before blinking away like the symbols themselves.
Malric pivoted away from the wall and hurried back toward class.
Today was an odd day, in an odd month.
Opening the classroom door, Malric stepped into the quiet hum of self-study. Taking his seat, he turned just as Filip leaned over.
"Yo, man. You good? Never seen you sick in your life."
"Yeah, I'm fine. Let's get back to studying before we get yelled at," Malric said quickly, flipping open his regular laptop.
His eyes flicked sideways. Illia's laptop sat beside him—sleek, dark, sharp-edged. School-branded.
Malric tried not to feel betrayed by his own parents.
Opening his browser, he clicked into Wikipedia and hit "Random Article." A ritual he did daily, hoping for something weird or interesting to jump out.
The rest of the school day passed uneventfully. Just the hum of screens, scribbled notes, and the subtle drag of time.
In the Academy's main entrance hall, Jhon, Amina, and Filip peeled off, heading together to the zoo.
That left Malric with Juniper—and, naturally, Illia trailing behind them.
"Want to stroll the city a bit? Maybe take some photos?" Malric offered, turning toward Juniper before glancing at Illia, who was already walking over.
"Hey Illia, want to come along too?"
"Sure, I'll come," Juniper said with a grin. "Can't leave you alone with the new girl, can I?"
Malric ignored the teasing. Illia, as expected, didn't react.
"I'll come along," she said flatly. "I need you to show me where I live anyway."
Malric blinked. Juniper turned to him, then back to Illia.
"Sorry—what?" she asked. "What do you mean you need him to show you where you live?"
Illia looked between them, unfazed. "Malric's parents gave me an apartment while I attend the Academy. I don't know the way. It's easier to follow him."
"Well, first destination—Bread's Bakery on 63rd and Broadway!" Malric announced, pushing past the awkwardness with a burst of enthusiasm.
Over the past few weeks, he'd been on a quiet mission to try every bakery in Manhattan.
So far, nothing had topped Magnolia Bakery on 58th.
"How long are we gonna keep doing this?" Juniper groaned, trailing behind. "I'm getting sick of sweet bread. This is literally why the others ran off to the zoo."
Getting there was easy—just a short walk, some light crowd-weaving, and they stepped through the front door of Bread's.
Malric locked eyes with the chalkboard menu. He already knew what he was ordering: the famous chocolate babka.
Since he'd dragged them out, Malric offered to pay.
"This is literally the only reason I still come with you," Juniper muttered, accepting the free pastry. Illia, as expected, had no money on her.
With food in hand, they sat near the window.
Malric bit into his babka and sank back into his chair, blissfully unaware of the atmosphere shifting around him.
It happened all at once.
Everyone in the bakery froze.
The cheerful clatter of forks and low hum of conversation stopped cold—replaced by a city-wide gasp of pain.
Customers grabbed their heads, wincing. One man dropped his drink. A child began to cry.
Juniper pressed her hands to her temples, eyes wide.
Illia didn't cry out—but her hand shot to her necklace, and it began to click.
Soft at first. Then faster.
Malric opened his eyes. He hadn't even noticed closing them.
Across the room, strangers were buckling over, dizzy. His ears rang. His gut said run.
He heard Illia's necklace ticking like a metronome about to burst.
What the hell is going on?
"We should leave," Malric said, standing. His voice was steady, but his jaw was tight.
"Juniper, we'll walk you home. Then I'll take Illia to her apartment."
The walk through the city was quiet—eerily so. People walked slower, eyes distant, and more than a few clutched their temples like they'd stood up too fast and never quite came back down.
Juniper, still pale, leaned on Malric more than she wanted to
"You sure you're okay?" he asked.
"No," she said bluntly. "But I don't think I'm dying, so let's keep moving."
They turned off Broadway and headed a few blocks east. Her apartment wasn't far.
As they reached the building, she stopped short and let go of Malric's arm. "I think I can handle it from here," she said, forcing a smile. "Assuming the stairs don't start swimming again."
"I can walk you up," Malric offered.
Juniper shook her head. "I'd rather fall in private, thanks."
Illia handed her one of the water bottles without a word. Juniper gave a small nod and took it, then waved them off.
"Go make sure alien-girl finds her apartment," she said, already unlocking the front door.
They waited a moment to be sure she got inside—then turned back toward Malric's place.
Malric and Illia walked the remaining block quickly. He kept a close eye on her, expecting her to faint at any moment—but strangely, the faster her necklace clicked, the better she seemed to feel.
Reaching his front door with the now-stabilizing Illia, Malric unlocked it and got her onto the couch.
"You just stay there. I'll get you some water—and your apartment number," he said, heading into the kitchen.
On the counter sat a note in his parents' handwriting:
"Gone for a bit ;)"
Passing the note with a sigh, he grabbed a small bottled water from the fridge.
Returning to the living room, Malric placed the bottle on the table. "Couldn't find the keys to your apartment," he muttered, "but whatever's going on, we might as well stick together."
Looking out the window, Malric's unease grew.
All over the world, similar occurrences were happening.
In L.A., a shootout had stopped mid-action as both sides—and the police who had been called—passed out at once.
In Hong Kong, a speech was cut short and a crowd of rioters collapsed simultaneously. With no law enforcement left standing, the chaos remained untouched.
In São Paulo, street vendors froze mid-sale. Cars crashed into posts and each other, their drivers unconscious behind the wheel.
In Melbourne, Australia, everyone fell asleep at the same moment. Cameras went static. Dreams overlapped with a woman's voice speaking in an unknown language.
Each location had its own variation—but across them all, one thing remained the same:
nothing recorded what happened.
Cameras stopped or failed. Devices glitched. Some people shared dreams.
And the few who didn't fall asleep reported sightings of blue floating symbols and impossible geometric shapes, glowing gently in midair like they'd always been there.