Page 1 of Hidden Echoes

PROLOGUE

THE FRACTION

People are like cartoons. Happy, dancing, and ready to be erased.

That’s how I look at the puppet lying in front of me—limbs twisted, eyes wide, mouth frozen mid-laugh.

Beside it lies my cricket, their ink pooling beneath them again. But I see the faint rise and fall of their chest, the fragile rhythm of breath. A sigh of relief escapes my lips. They’re not gone—not yet.

Bright lights flash, searing through the cracks in my vision, and suddenly my legs are moving.

I bolt into the forest, twigs snapping beneath my bare feet, breath ragged.

The roar of helicopters shatters the night, blades slicing through the air like knives. Lights flare, burning through the trees, turning shadows into something alive.

The puppets are behind me, their wooden limbs creaking, their stitched grins stretching too wide.

I run and run—until everything goes black.

When my eyes open, it’s still dark.

My body hums like a tuning fork, every nerve vibrating, my skull splitting apart at the seams.

The forest is gone.

Concrete presses against my feet, cold and damp, and in the distance, light spills onto the floor like molten gold.

A car.

They came for me.

I wait. And wait.

But the car doesn’t stop.

The headlights burn brighter, swallowing the ground, stretching long fingers across my skin.

I lift a hand to shield my face, but my fingers are slick, wet, red.

A shadow moves inside the car.

A driver. No face, just a smudge of motion, watching.

The light grows. My skin prickles, my breath catches in my throat.

The puppets are behind me again, whispering, dragging their heavy strings, but I don’t turn around.

The car will save me.

The light will take me home.

I step forward—right into the glow.

THE REALITY

I always get nervous when I go visit my family.

Not that I actually manage to go through with it—I usually give up halfway, turn the car around, and pretend it never happened.

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