The morning arrived sideways, the same way the rain had—sly, uncertain, and with an agenda.
Gregory poured coffee into a chipped mug from a long-dead café. Maurice floated above the counter, wings slightly twitching from the caffeine in the air.
"You look haunted," the owl said.
Gregory exhaled. "That's because I am. But now I haunt back."
He pulled out the receipt from IKEA. It had faded. The total now just said:
> "Ongoing."
A knock at the door.
Not a real knock. Not the kind that expects response. It was a memory. Shaped like sound. Gregory opened the door anyway.
No one.
Just a book.
On his welcome mat.
Hardcover. Bound in dusk. No title.
Maurice squinted. "That's either cursed or custom-made."
Gregory picked it up.
The pages were blank.
Then they weren't.
A sentence appeared, scrawled like it was whispered onto paper:
> "You're ready now."
Gregory frowned. "Ready for what?"
The book didn't answer. But a map unfolded from its spine.
