The metallic scent was stronger now, mixing with something else—something that reminded Finnian of old blood and wet earth. He looked around the classroom, but nobody else seemed to notice anything unusual. Mrs. Chen was grading papers at her desk, and the other students were absorbed in their own work.
"Like yesterday at the dojo," Kieran continued, his voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "I heard you had quite an interesting experience during our match. Saw some things that... well, that nobody else seemed to notice."
Finnian's blood ran cold. "How did you—"
"Word travels fast in a small community like ours." Kieran leaned forward slightly, and Finnian caught a glimpse of something wrong with his reflection in the window behind him. Something with too-long limbs and eyes that reflected light like an animal's. "People talk. They worry about you, you know. About your... episodes."
"I don't have episodes," Finnian said through gritted teeth, but his voice shook.
"Of course not." Kieran's tone was soothing, almost paternal. "You're just under a lot of stress. Seeing things that aren't there. Hearing voices, maybe? It's more common than you'd think."
Around them, the normal sounds of the classroom seemed to fade away. Other students' voices became distant murmurs, and the scratch of pencils on paper turned into white noise. It was as if Kieran was somehow isolating them in their own private bubble of conversation.
"The thing is," Kieran said, his voice dropping to barely audible levels, "sometimes what we think we see is actually more real than what everyone else accepts as normal. Sometimes the truth is so frightening that our minds try to protect us by making us doubt ourselves."
Finnian found himself leaning forward despite every instinct screaming at him to run. There was something hypnotic about Kieran's voice, something that made it hard to look away from his dark eyes.
"What are you?" Finnian whispered.
Kieran's smile became genuine for the first time, showing just a hint of those impossible teeth. "I'm whatever you need me to be, Finnian. A classmate. A friend. A reminder that the world is far stranger than most people are willing to believe."
The bell rang, shattering the spell. Suddenly the classroom was full of noise again—students packing up their books, chairs scraping against the floor, conversations resuming their normal volume.
Finnian blinked, feeling disoriented. Had he imagined that entire conversation? Kieran was already gathering his things, looking like any other student eager to get to his next class.
"See you tomorrow, Finnian," Kieran said pleasantly as he headed for the door. "Sweet dreams."
---
The walk home was a nightmare of paranoia. Every shadow seemed to hide watching eyes, every reflection in shop windows showed something just slightly wrong. Finnian found himself constantly looking over his shoulder, but whenever he turned around, there was nothing there.
By the time he reached his house, he was exhausted and shaking. His mother took one look at him and immediately started fussing, checking his temperature and asking about his day. But her questions felt distant, muffled, as if he was hearing them through thick glass.
"I'm just tired," he told her, avoiding her worried gaze. "I think I'll skip dinner and go straight to bed."
"But you barely ate lunch," she protested. "And you look so pale—"
"I'm fine, Mom. Really."
She didn't look convinced, but she let him go upstairs without further argument. Finnian collapsed onto his bed fully clothed, pulling his pillow over his head to block out the world.
But sleep wouldn't come. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Kieran's face, heard his hypnotic voice, smelled that metallic scent that seemed to cling to his nostrils like smoke.
Around midnight, he gave up trying to sleep and went to his window, looking out at the quiet suburban street. Most of the houses were dark, their occupants safely asleep in their beds.
But across the street, standing beneath a flickering streetlight, was a familiar figure.
Kieran stood perfectly still, his pale face turned up toward Finnian's window. Even from this distance, Finnian could see that predatory smile, could feel those dark eyes boring into him.
Finnian jerked back from the window, his heart hammering. When he worked up the courage to look again, the street was empty.
But on his windowsill, where no one could have possibly placed it, was another note.
*"The truth is closer than you think. Are you ready to stop running from it?"*
This time, when Finnian reached for the note, his fingers passed right through it like it was made of smoke.
He sank to the floor, pulling his knees to his chest. Outside, he could hear the normal sounds of night—wind in the trees, a distant car engine, the hum of air conditioners.
But underneath it all, so faint he might have been imagining it, was the sound of soft laughter.
And footsteps on his front porch.