The Rift

Enjoy Your Stay

   As I stare at the shadowy figure, an unsettling chill runs down my spine. The form, barely discernible against the dimly lit ceiling, seems to shift and blur, like smoke caught in a breeze. The dark, glossy eyes fixate on me with an intensity that makes my heart race. Before I can make sense of it, the figure vanishes into the gloom, leaving behind only the faintest echo of movement.

   I take a step forward, my curiosity piqued and my anxiety rising. The nightclub's entrance looms behind, and I hesitate, torn between the desire to investigate and the comfort of staying inside. But the pull of the unknown is stronger as my hand was already halfway pushing the heavy door to the nightclub open, the loud music and flashing lights spilling out into the rain-soaked street.

   Now, the rain has intensified, turning the world into a blur of neon reflections and shimmering puddles. I scan the area for any sign of the figure but find nothing. My instinct tells me not to follow, and that the figure could be long gone. The street is eerily quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic patter of rain against concrete.

   But against my better judgement I start walking, eyes darting around when a sudden movement catches my attention. There it is again—the figure, now visible from the corner of an alleyway. I quicken my pace, trying to catch up. The figure darts into the alley, and I follow, slipping through the narrow passageway with a mix of determination and trepidation.

   The alley is dark and cramped, its walls lined with graffiti and scarce trash. My footsteps echo ominously as I chase the elusive figure. The rain-soaked ground makes it slippery, and I nearly lose my footing several times. Just as I'm about to close the distance, the figure turns sharply, disappearing down another alley that twists off into darkness.

   I'm still chasing after them, heart pounding in my chest when the realization hits me like a brick wall: I'm in the Row.

   The Row is a twisted maze of narrow alleyways, the kind of place you avoid unless you're looking for trouble. During the day, it's mostly deserted, except for the odd group of rebellious teens or shady characters. But at night? It's a different story. Rumor has it, the Row turns downright dangerous when the sun goes down. The backdoors of shops and restaurants line the alleys, their dumpsters overflowing with trash that no one's bothered to empty. I know I should turn back—maybe even right now.

   But I don't. I keep pushing forward, even as my mind screams, Turn back, just go back. My feet refuse to listen. Something stronger than reason keeps driving me deeper into the shadows, further into the unknown, even though I know I shouldn't.

   The figure is just a blur at the edge of my vision, slipping in and out of the shadows. I can barely see ten feet ahead, but I catch flickers of movement in the dark. What am I thinking? Chasing after someone I don't even know.

   What if they're leading me into a trap? The thought strikes me, and I know I'm being stupid. This isn't me. I never do anything like this.

   Just as I'm about to catch up to the figure, my foot catches on an empty tin can. I stumble and fall hard onto the wet concrete. Pain flares in my elbows, and I let out a frustrated huff as I catch my breath. When I finally push myself up, I realize my clothes are drenched through, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. Shivering, I glance around, disoriented. I have no idea where I am or how to get out. The curfew must have passed, and soon the Enforcers will be combing this area for anyone who doesn't belong.

   And just as that realization hits, I hear the distant thud of footsteps, the crackle of radio chatter, and the sweep of flashlights cutting through the darkness. Panic surges through me—I'm in serious trouble if I don't find somewhere to hide or get out of here fast.