Emma hadn't spoken much in two days.
The group noticed—how she lingered longer in silence, how she sat near her phone like she was waiting for it to light up. How her eyes kept drifting toward the university gate.
She'd already gone to Rai's apartment that morning.
It was empty.
Neat.
Cold.
The blanket on the couch hadn't been touched. His sketchbook was gone. The 1970 Mustang—his father's—was no longer in the garage.
She'd sat on his doorstep for an hour before coming back to the group.
And still, he hadn't returned.
"You sure he left in the middle of the night?" Cyrus asked gently.
Emma nodded. "He packed light."
Owen's brow furrowed. "Wait—Rai has a car?"
Emma didn't look up.
Iris, who had just joined the group again after her time away, sat nearby, arms folded. "If he's going where I think he is… he didn't just go for answers. He went chasing something he doesn't understand yet."
Marin placed a quiet hand on Emma's shoulder. "Hey… breathe."
"I am," Emma said. But her voice broke.
"You're not."
Emma covered her face. "He didn't say goodbye."
Cyrus stood at the edge of the circle, fists clenched tighter than usual.
"I don't like this. Something about it's wrong. He's not reckless like this."
"Unless he's scared," Marin added.
Ronald stood by the railing, phone in hand. He typed quickly and quietly:
He went to the old site. Returned alive.
Be ready.
Then deleted the thread.
Hours passed.
Then a sound none of them expected echoed through the lot—
an engine.
Old. Guttural. Familiar.
The black Mustang turned the corner and pulled in, kicking dust off its wheels.
Owen's eyes widened. "No way..."
"Since when did Rai have a Mustang?!" Cyrus snapped.
The car door opened.
Rai stepped out, still in the same clothes, arm bandaged, face pale.
Emma was already halfway across the pavement.
And then—without a word—
She slapped him.
It wasn't hard enough to knock him back. But it stung. On his skin. And in his chest.
Rai didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He just looked at her.
Emma's breath was ragged. "You left me."
"I didn't want you involved."
"I was involved the moment you opened that room with me," she said. "The moment you trusted me. You don't get to take that back."
"I didn't want to lose anyone else."
He said it quietly.
So quietly it cut deeper than the slap.
Emma blinked. "What?"
Rai looked away. "I already lost my dad without warning. One day he was there. The next… he wasn't. I couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen again. Not to someone else I... care about."
Emma's lips parted, but the words didn't come.
She looked down. "You're hurt."
"I'm fine."
"No, you're not."
She gently pulled his hand forward and started unwrapping the bandage. It stuck in places—poorly done. Her hands shook as the cloth pulled free.
And then she saw it.
The torn flesh, glued together, barely cleaned.
"You used superglue?"
"I had to. It was deep."
"You had to?" Her voice cracked. "You glued your skin together like you didn't matter."
And then, just like that, Emma cried.
Not loud. Not messy.
Just tears that came fast and full.
"You walked out of my life like it wouldn't destroy me. And I still sat there, hoping I'd hear your stupid car come back."
Rai didn't speak.
Emma leaned her forehead against his chest, her fingers curled into his shirt.
"I missed you so much it hurt," she whispered.
He hesitated. Then slowly wrapped one arm around her shoulders, the other still bleeding faintly.
"I'm sorry," he said.
And for once, he meant every syllable.
Later, inside the common room, the group sat in a half-circle.
No one talked.
Until Rai placed a weathered notebook on the table.
He opened it.
Showed the sketches.
The spiral. The tablets. The ruins.
"They weren't gods," he said. "Not like we thought."
"They were chosen. By him."
"Who?" Iris asked, narrowing her eyes.
"A single being. A forgotten deity."
He flipped the page.
"They served him. Not because they were commanded to. But because they loved him."
"They gave up everything when he chose to disappear. Their power. Their memory. Their purpose."
The spiral sketch glowed under the overhead light.
"I think the shrines… the dreams… all of this isn't pointing toward a future."
"It's remembering a past."
Marin whispered, "And you think you're part of it."
Rai looked up.
"I... I don't know."