I used to trust the voice in my head.
Okay… no, that was a lie. I tolerated it. Like the way you tolerated mosquitoes or tax collectors or a stubborn ex, with mild resignation and the occasional urge to scream.
But lately, every time the system spoke, my brain itched with suspicion. Every word sounded like a knife wrapped in polite binary numbers.
We had been on the road for almost a week since we met Lian, and I swore the world itself felt heavier. The trees whispered louder, the air smelled wrong, and even the sunlight looked suspiciously filtered as if reality itself had grown tired of us.
Yan didn't talk much. He walked ahead, always a few steps in front, cloak brushing the dirt path, sword at his side. He had that quiet, tragic-hero energy down to a science. Every so often he glanced back, checking if I had wandered off a cliff or started monologuing to mushrooms again.
Me? I kept pretending I was fine. Spoiler alert: I wasn't fine.
