The rain didn’t stop.

  It softened after the crash, but it never truly ended. Thin lines of water continued falling from the grey sky above Greybridge, blurring the streetlights and turning the pavement into shifting mirrors.

  Adrian stood across the street from the wrecked car.

  Red emergency lights flashed rhythmically against the wet buildings.

  Two police cruisers had arrived within minutes. A small crowd gathered behind the yellow tape, whispering quietly to one another.

  The woman Adrian had helped sat on the curb beneath a police umbrella.

  She still looked shaken.

  Adrian couldn’t blame her.

  The driver of the car had survived, though barely. Paramedics were lifting him into the back of an ambulance when Adrian last looked.

  One of the officers approached him.

  “Sir?”

  Adrian looked up.

  “Yes?”

  “You said you were standing right here when the car lost control?”

  Adrian nodded slowly.

  “That’s right.”

  The officer glanced toward the deep tire marks carved into the wet road.

  “You’re lucky you stepped back when you did.”

  Lucky.

  The word echoed strangely in Adrian’s mind.

  He forced a small nod.

  “Yeah. Lucky.”

  The officer scribbled something into his notepad.

  “Alright. We may need a short statement later, but you’re free to go for now.”

  Adrian thanked him quietly and stepped away from the crowd.

  As he walked back toward the bookstore, his thoughts felt heavy and tangled.

  The rain soaked into his coat again.

  But he barely noticed.

  Because all he could think about was the book.

  The page.

  The sentence.

  You will die tonight.

  It had been wrong.

  Technically.

  But only because Adrian had moved at the last second.

  And the details of the prediction…

  They had been exact.

  The intersection.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The time.

  The accident.

  Adrian stopped beneath a flickering streetlamp.

  “What are you?” he whispered to the empty street.

  Of course, the city gave no answer.

  Old Lantern Books stood quietly at the end of the block.

  Warm yellow light still glowed in the front window.

  Adrian suddenly felt a strange reluctance to return inside.

  As if the store had changed.

  As if something waited for him there.

  Still, he forced himself forward.

  The bell above the door chimed softly when he entered.

  The familiar scent of old paper greeted him.

  For a moment, everything looked normal again.

  Shelves of books.

  Stacks waiting to be catalogued.

  The old clock ticking steadily on the wall.

  11:34 PM.

  But the black book remained exactly where he had left it.

  Open on the counter.

  Adrian approached slowly.

  He half expected the pages to be blank again.

  They weren’t.

  The sentence from earlier remained.

  You survived the first one.

  Adrian exhaled slowly.

  “So you admit it,” he murmured.

  “The first one.”

  That meant there were more.

  The thought sent a chill through him.

  He flipped the page.

  Blank.

  For a moment.

  Then the ink began spreading again.

  Adrian watched as the handwriting formed word by word.

  Slow.

  Deliberate.

  Like someone carefully choosing what to write.

  The first line appeared.

  The future is not fixed.

  Adrian frowned.

  The sentence continued.

  It only becomes real when you arrive there.

  His chest tightened slightly.

  “What does that even mean?” he muttered.

  The penless writing continued.

  You changed the outcome tonight.

  Adrian stared.

  “So I can change it.”

  More ink formed beneath.

  Sometimes.

  That word sat on the page like a quiet warning.

  Adrian felt frustration rise in his chest.

  “You’re not making any sense.”

  As if responding, the next sentence began to appear.

  Not all pages can be rewritten.

  The old clock ticked loudly.

  Adrian glanced at it.

  11:38 PM.

  When he looked back at the page—

  The writing had continued.

  A new heading appeared.

  Second Entry

  Adrian’s stomach tightened.

  He leaned closer.

  The book began writing again.

  Tomorrow.

  The word formed slowly.

  12:06 PM

  Adrian whispered the time aloud.

  “Lunch hour.”

  More words appeared.

  You will receive a phone call.

  Adrian felt his pulse quicken.

  The caller will ask about the photograph.

  He looked down at the black-and-white picture still lying on the counter.

  The image of himself standing on Hawthorne Street.

  The book continued writing.

  If you answer the call…

  The penless ink paused.

  Then finished the sentence.

  You will discover something that should not exist.

  Adrian’s mind raced.

  “What call?”

  The book gave no answer.

  He flipped the page.

  Nothing.

  Just blank paper again.

  Adrian ran a hand through his damp hair.

  “Great,” he muttered.

  “Cryptic supernatural instructions.”

  Exactly what every normal person wanted in their life.

  He closed the book carefully.

  Then opened his notebook again.

  Under the first entry, he began writing:

  Prediction #1 confirmed.

  He paused.

  Then corrected himself.

  Prediction #1 partially confirmed.

  Because technically, he had survived.

  But the event itself had still happened.

  Adrian continued writing.

  Book may not be predicting events.

  Possible that it is guiding them.

  He stopped.

  The idea sounded ridiculous.

  But it also explained too much.

  Adrian looked again at the photograph.

  The street corner.

  The figure that looked like him.

  Had that image also been part of the book’s plan?

  A strange thought crossed his mind.

  He turned the photograph over again.

  Still blank.

  But when he placed it under the desk lamp—

  Something faint appeared.

  Hidden lines.

  Almost invisible writing.

  Adrian leaned closer.

  The letters slowly revealed themselves beneath the light.

  A single word.

  Tomorrow.

  Adrian’s pulse quickened.

  “Okay,” he whispered.

  “That’s not a coincidence.”

  The book.

  The photograph.

  Both pointing to tomorrow.

  Both pointing to the same moment.

  12:06 PM.

  Adrian looked back at the black book.

  It sat quietly on the counter.

  Closed.

  Innocent.

  But now he understood something.

  The book wasn’t finished with him.

  Not even close.

  Outside, the rain finally began to fade.

  Greybridge settled into the quiet hours before midnight.

  Inside Old Lantern Books, Adrian locked the door and turned off half the lights.

  But he didn’t leave.

  Instead, he sat behind the counter.

  Watching the book.

  Waiting.

  As if expecting the next sentence to appear at any moment.

  After a long silence, he spoke quietly into the empty store.

  “If you’re writing my future,” he said, “then I’m going to read it first.”

  The black book did not respond.

  But somewhere deep within its pages—

  A new line of ink had already begun to form.