Threads of an Unseen Truth

Chapter Six

Rowan's apartment was small, cluttered in a way that felt lived-in, familiar. Soren sat at the kitchen table, gripping a mug of coffee as he tried to ignore the ache of exhaustion weighing on him. He hadn't slept much, his dreams a blur of shadows and distorted faces, and even now, in the safe, warm light of Rowan's place, he felt the unsettling chill of the haunting presence creeping into his mind.

Rowan sat across from him, watching with quiet concern. "You barely slept," he said, a hint of worry in his voice. "You sure you're okay?"

Soren forced a half-smile, though it felt thin, insincere. "Yeah. Just... rough couple of days."

Rowan nodded, but he didn't press, his eyes lingering on Soren's for a moment longer than usual. Soren could tell he wanted to help, that he cared. But even with Rowan's friendship, Soren felt a barrier—a divide that he couldn't explain, as though the words he needed to say were caught somewhere deep inside, hidden beneath layers of fear and doubt.

They spent the morning in quiet conversation, Rowan's calm, steady presence giving Soren a brief reprieve from the tension clawing at his mind. But as he left his friend's apartment, stepping back into the cool daylight, he felt the unease settle over him again, a familiar weight pressing down.

Soren decided to make a quick visit to his father. He had messaged him a few days ago, suggesting they catch up. It wasn't that they were close—Elliot had always been somewhat distant, supportive in his own way but reserved, as though there was a line he didn't dare cross. Soren knew his father cared for him, but sometimes it felt like he was watching from a distance, as though afraid to get too close.

The drive to Soren's Dad's place was short, and soon enough, he found himself standing outside his father's neat, meticulously kept home. Elliot opened the door before he could knock, his expression calm but assessing, his eyes scanning Soren's face as though searching for something unspoken.

"Come in," Elliot said, stepping aside to let him in. The house smelled faintly of cedar and old books, a quiet, orderly space that mirrored Elliot's own reserved nature. Soren moved into the living room, where a pair of framed photos on the wall caught his eye—one of himself as a child, laughing beside his grandmother, and another of Elliot, years younger, his face serious but his arm slung around Soren's shoulders.

"Good to see you," Elliot said, offering a tight smile as he sat down across from Soren. "How have you been doing? Good, I hope?"

Soren nodded, though the truth felt like a weight in his chest. "Yeah. Just... been feeling a bit off lately."

Elliot's gaze sharpened, his brow furrowing. "Off how?"

Soren hesitated, glancing around the room, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his sleeve. How could he explain it? That he felt watched in his own apartment, that shadows seemed to follow him wherever he went? He wasn't sure he could find the words, especially with his father's piercing gaze fixed on him, searching for answers.

"It's just... I don't know. I've been feeling things. Like... someone's watching me," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Elliot's expression softened, but his response was careful, measured. "Soren, you've always had an active mind. You think about things deeply, sometimes too deeply. Maybe you're just under stress. It happens to everyone."

The words hit Soren harder than he'd expected, a faint sting of disappointment settling in his chest. He knew his father was trying to help, to comfort him in his own way. But it felt dismissive, like Elliot was brushing off something that felt all too real.

"Yeah," Soren muttered, his gaze drifting to the floor. "Maybe."

They sat in silence for a moment, and Soren's thoughts drifted back to his grandmother, to the quiet certainty she'd always had. She would have believed him, would have listened without judgment. The memory brought a sharp ache, a reminder of the support he'd lost.

Elliot cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "You know, if things feel overwhelming, it might help to talk to someone. A professional. They might have some insights."

Soren nodded absently, feeling the weight of his father's words settle over him. It was sensible advice, he knew that. But it felt distant, practical in a way that didn't reach the depths of what he was experiencing.

After a while, Soren stood to leave, offering his father a small, grateful smile. "Thanks, Dad. I appreciate it."

Elliot nodded, his gaze lingering as Soren made his way to the door. "Take care of yourself, kid," he said, his voice carrying a quiet note of worry. "Don't let your mind play tricks on you."

Soren paused, the words echoing in his mind as he stepped out into the cool afternoon air. Don't let your mind play tricks on you. But it didn't feel like his mind playing tricks. It felt real, tangible, something that was waiting for him, watching from the shadows.

When he returned to his apartment, the silence felt oppressive, heavier than before. The shadows seemed to cling to the walls, dark and watchful, as though they'd been waiting for him to come back. He moved through the room slowly, his heart pounding as he glanced around, half-expecting to see a figure lurking in the corner.

He stopped in front of the mirror, his gaze catching on the faint smudge he'd noticed the night before. It was still there, a faint line across the glass, almost like someone had traced their finger over it.

A chill ran down his spine as he stared at his reflection, the distorted image staring back at him with a blank, unfeeling gaze. His own face looked strange, hollow, like a mask covering something darker beneath.

And then, without warning, the light above him flickered, casting the room into shadow for a brief, terrifying moment. In that split second, he saw it—a figure standing just behind him, a shape that seemed to merge with the shadows, silent and unmoving.

He spun around, his heart hammering, but the room was empty.

The silence pressed in around him, thick and unyielding, and he felt a cold, sinking dread settle in his chest. He was alone, truly alone. And whatever was haunting him wasn't going to let him go.