By the time Ethan arrived at the bookstore, the rain had stopped, leaving the streets glistening under a pale sun. Fans crowded near the entrance, clutching copies of his books, their chatter a low, eager hum. Yet as Ethan stepped onto the sidewalk, a strange unease prickled at the back of his neck. 

The air felt too still, the kind of stillness that settled just before a storm. 

Inside, the warmth of the bookstore wrapped around him, but it did little to ease the growing knot in his chest. His gaze swept across the room. Most of the crowd was animated—excited faces, impatient shifting—but in the far corner, a man in a dark coat stood unnervingly still. 

He was by the shelves, his face half-hidden beneath the brim of a weathered hat. Unlike everyone else, he wasn’t browsing or chatting. He just stood there; his head angled ever so slightly in Ethan’s direction. 

Ethan’s pulse quickened, his grip tightening on his bag. You’re being ridiculous, he told himself. Just another fan. Probably just shy. But the man’s presence gnawed at him. Something about the rigidity of his posture, the way his hands were buried deep in his pockets, felt wrong. 

 “Mr. Heartly!” a young woman exclaimed. “I can’t believe I’m meeting you! The excitement kept me up all night—I couldn’t put it down!” 

Ethan forced a smile. “Thank you. That means a lot.” 

Ethan forced himself to focus on the fans in front of him, their eager smiles and outstretched books demanding his attention. But the unease gnawed at him. 

Unable to resist, he glanced back toward the shelves. 

The man was gone. 

You’re imagining things, he told himself, though the thought did little to calm him. 

The event was a blur of faces and names. People praised his storytelling, recounted their favourite scenes, and asked about his inspirations. But Ethan’s answers felt hollow. His thoughts kept drifting back to the notebook, the nightmare, the inexplicable connection to Shamble. 

And then there was the voice. Faint but persistent, whispering at the edges of his consciousness. 

As the day stretched on, Ethan found himself distracted. The air felt too still, and the weight of his own thoughts pressed in on him. He could feel the eyes of the crowd, their gaze following his every movement, even when they weren’t looking at him directly. It made his skin crawl. He tried to shake it off, telling himself it was nothing more than nerves.