The Red String Effect

Chapter Two -- Part One: The First Knot

The rain had been falling for two days straight. It wasn't the kind of rain that felt cleansing – it was the kind that pressed against the earth like it was trying to bury something. The gutters of St. Morwyn High gurgled with brown water, and the smell of damp stone lingered in the hallways. Layla kept her hood up even indoors. Not because she was cold, but because she didn't want to see too much. Threads were easier to ignore when her vision was shadowed. She'd learned this trick years ago.

Today, though, the threads didn't feel like they were waiting for her to look. They felt like they were watching her. She could feel it. That subtle, electric hum that meant someone – or something – was aware of her in ways that had nothing to do with sight. Luca was somewhere in the building. She didn't need to see him to know. The air always changed when he was close by. The background noise dulled. Colors faded, and the red web that stretched between everyone else seemed to... retreat, like it didn't want to be anywhere near him.

Layla's own thread felt no different. It was dim now – so pale she could almost convince herself it wasn't even there. Almost. But when she concentrated, she could still see the faint glimmer, like a spider's silk in moonlight. She had a feeling it wouldn't last much longer. "You've been avoiding me." Layla froze halfway down the science wing. The voice was quiet but carried in the empty hall. She turned slowly. Luca leaned against a locker near the drinking fountain, his hood shadowing his face.

A faint bruise curved under one of his eyes – old, yellowing. She wondered if anyone else noticed. Probably not. People didn't really notice him unless he wanted them to. "I've been busy," she said, her voice clipped. "You've been scared," he replied. Layla bit the inside of her cheek. "You're not exactly the easiest person to be around, exactly." He pushed off the locker and took a step closer. The hallway lights above them flickered – once, twice – and settled into a dimmer glow.

"Something's happening to this place," Layla said. "Since you showed up. People are... different." His eyes narrowed. "You've seen it." "Yes." "And?" " And I don't know what it means. I just know you're at the center of it." He didn't deny it. They ended up outside, standing under the overhang by the west exit, where the rain fell in heavy sheets. The sound made their conversation feel private, sealed off. "I found something," Layla said, pulling her backpack off one shoulder. She dug out the notebook she'd uncovered the night before. It was old, with a bent cover and curling pages from age.

Luca took it from her without asking. His fingers brush hers. The contact was brief but sharp, like touching exposed wires. She didn't flinch this time. He flipped through the pages until he reached the page that was ripped. His eyes scanned the jagged handwriting – threadless one. He read the line beneath it out loud.

"One who walks outside the weave can sever what fate once held."

Luca's expression didn't change, but something in his stance shifted. "Where did you get this?" "It's mine. From when I was a kid. But I didn't write that." "Then who did?" "My cousin. Peter. He... saw the strings too." He looked up at her. "And where is he now?" "That's what I want to find out." If Layla had expected Luca to refuse, she was wrong. Instead, he handed the notebook back. "Then we'll start there." The we was unsettling. But she didn't argue. For a moment, she stood there in the rain-muted quiet, holding the book against her chest, and then she realized something–something so small she almost missed it. Her thread had pulsed. Just once. But she felt it.