Unraveled

Chapter 10

The city's skyline was drenched in the fading light of late afternoon as Caleb stood by the large window in his high-rise apartment. The golden glow reflected off the glass like fractured memory, jagged and unresolved. His gaze drifted over the bustling streets below, but his mind was elsewhere—caught in the looping questions, distorted flashes, and the deepening sense that something was irreversibly wrong.

It had been days since his conversation with Aubrey in the café. Though he'd settled into a wary calm around him, the feeling of missing pieces only grew. And now, his apartment—it felt different, subtly wrong.

At first, it was small things—a book out of place on the shelf, a mug that hadn't been there, a shift in the position of a framed photo on his desk. Maybe he'd moved them without noticing, drifting on autopilot. But it kept happening. Every time he came home, something was altered, like someone had been there, disturbing the fragile balance of his space.

Caleb's hand lingered against the window, his faint reflection staring back—a ghost of the man he thought he was. The memory gaps gnawed at him, deep cracks in the foundation of his sense of self. Why was everything so familiar yet so foreign? His fingers pressed harder against the glass as he exhaled, fogging up the surface. He needed answers, something solid.

Then he noticed the latest anomaly: the closet door, slightly ajar, though he was certain he'd closed it before work. His heart thudded, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.

Slowly, Caleb crossed the room, feet sinking into the plush carpet. The door creaked as he opened it. His cologne mixed with the cedar scent of the wood, but something felt wrong. His clothes—shirts, jackets, pants—all arranged, yet not quite in the order he remembered.

Scanning the contents, his eyes settled on the top shelf. His old leather jacket, which he was sure had been shoved further back, now lay front and center, as if hastily replaced.

He reached for it, brushing the soft, worn leather, and there it was—a glint of silver, barely visible. His pulse quickened as he eased the jacket aside, revealing a delicate chain.

He froze.

A locket.

It was small, silver, shaped like a cypress tree—just like the one in his dreams. He stared, unblinking, the object's weight heavy in his hand. How could this be here? A chill raced down his spine, the room suddenly too cold, too quiet.

The locket swung gently from its chain as he lifted it to the light, the metal catching the glow from the setting sun. His fingers shook as he pried it open, but the interior was empty. No photo, no inscription—just smooth, polished metal. Still, the sight of it filled him with a sense of eerie familiarity, as if it held the key to the fragments of memory scattered in his mind.

Turning it over, he struggled to make sense of it. Where had this come from? Why was it hidden in his closet?

A sharp knock at the door broke the silence, making Caleb jump. The locket slipped from his fingers, landing with a soft thud on the carpet. His heart hammered as he looked toward the door. Was someone watching him? Had someone been here?

He hesitated, hand lingering on the locket before slipping it into his pocket. Another knock, more insistent.

Caleb took a steadying breath, crossing the room to peer through the peephole. When he saw who it was, a wave of relief—and something else—washed over him.

Aubrey.

He opened the door, masking the tension that had coiled inside.

"Hey," Aubrey greeted, a slow, easy smile on his face. He leaned against the doorframe, dark hair falling over his eyes, his casual posture at odds with the anxiety churning in Caleb.