The day began as if nothing had happened.Classes resumed. Students filled the halls. Conversations hummed over the same cafeteria tables where Ethan and Seth sat every morning — except this morning, something was off.
The lights in the biology block flickered as Professor Fargrave spoke. His voice carried that same dull drone, yet every third sentence seemed out of sync, as if someone had cut and rearranged parts of his speech.
"…biological recovery occurs through cell induction when… and as we discussed— tissue coherence remains an emergent echo."
Ethan blinked. Emergent echo? He glanced toward Seth, but his friend wasn't even pretending to take notes anymore. Seth's eyes were locked on the flickering projector light, pupils dilated, his breathing shallow.
"Hey," Ethan whispered. "You good?"
Seth didn't answer. His hand, loosely gripping his pen, began tracing something absent-mindedly on the desk. Circles. Perfectly spaced, connected by faint lines.
Ethan frowned. "You're doing it again."
Seth blinked rapidly as if waking up. "What?"
"That—those circles. You were drawing them during the last lecture too."
Seth looked down. The pattern seemed deliberate — like coordinates plotted on an invisible grid. His voice dropped. "I don't even remember doing that."
Fargrave's voice echoed suddenly across the hall:"Mr. Donovan. Perhaps you'd like to explain to the class what resonance induction means, since you seem so deeply… attuned."
Seth froze. The tone was off — not mocking, not angry. More like testing.
Ethan shifted uncomfortably. "Sir, he wasn't—"
"Quiet, Mr. Callahan," Fargrave interrupted, gaze sliding to him. "I wasn't speaking to you."
The lights dimmed momentarily.
Seth swallowed. His voice came out softer than usual. "Resonance induction… happens when… when a signal amplifies through similarity. Two frequencies meeting until one stops being separate."
The class went silent. Even Fargrave paused, eyes narrowing.
"…Correct," he said finally. "Though not the textbook phrasing. Well done."
Ethan shot Seth a wary look. Seth just exhaled, rubbing his temple. "I don't know how I knew that," he whispered. "It just came."
When the bell rang, the two walked out quietly.
Outside, the campus looked normal — too normal. The fountain in the courtyard rippled even though there was no wind. A group of freshmen walked by, each step perfectly timed, heads turning in unison at some unheard rhythm.
Ethan caught it. "Did you see that?"
Seth nodded. "It's like they're… synced."
They walked faster.
At the edge of the main quad, the old maintenance shed stood — the one everyone said was condemned. But the janitor's broom was still propped by the door. The same janitor who had vanished last week after giving them a cryptic warning: If you hear the hum, walk the other way.
Seth picked up the broom. The wood felt faintly warm. "He's not dead," he said quietly. "He's hiding."
Ethan frowned. "You sound sure."
Seth turned toward the shed. "Because I can hear him."
"What?"
But Seth didn't answer. His head tilted slightly, eyes narrowing at nothing visible. "He's below. There's a tunnel under this."
They pushed open the door — hinges squealing in protest — and stepped inside. Dust, broken shelves, and old tools lined the walls. But beneath the grime was a trapdoor, half-covered by a tarp.
Ethan knelt, tugging it open. A cold rush of air hit them — not stale, but charged, carrying that same metallic vibration they'd both felt since returning to campus.
"Ethan," Seth murmured, "this isn't just a tunnel."
He was right. The stairway below wasn't made of concrete. It was dark glass — pulsing faintly, like the veins of something alive.
Ethan's chest tightened. "This looks like what we saw in—"
He stopped. The memory blurred, as if his mind refused to finish the thought.
Seth placed a hand on the wall. "We've been here before."
Then, faintly, a voice echoed up the stairwell — distorted, mechanical, and unmistakably human:
"Detective Jeena Patel. Your signal is compromised. Return to baseline."
Ethan's breath caught. "Jeena?"
The radio static built into a low hum, vibrating through the walls.
Seth took a step down. "She's inside the resonance field."
Ethan followed. "And we're about to be, too."
The hatch slammed shut behind them.
Aboveground, the fountain rippled once more — the pattern expanding outward in concentric rings, each pulse syncing with the rhythm beneath the earth.
Point Veert was no longer a place.
It was awake.