He exhales and says the last thing I expect.

  His name is White.

  Chapter 6 - About 2600 Sheep

  That name crashes into me, not just in my ears, but deep in my bones like a wrong note shattering the harmony of a perfect melody. It's jarring, off-kilter, and leaves everything tilting on its axis. It feels wrong.

  He's White?

  My mind stumbles. No, that doesn't make sense. He's me... or at least, that's what I believed. The patterns, his face, his twisted smile it all fit. But now, it's like the ground beneath me is giving way. Everything I thought I knew, the logic I'd pieced together like fragile glass, is breaking apart.

  "A cold wave of disappointment crashes over me, sharp and suffocating. My chest tightens, breath hitching as my grip on this unraveling reality slips through my fingers. I thought I had this figured out - thought I understood. But now... now I don't know anything at all."

  But maybe... just maybe... I'm doing it again. Jumping to conclusions, grasping at answers where there are none. What if White isn't... White? What if he's still Black? What if this whole mess is just layers of illusion folding in on themselves?

  I look at Dr. Lenny, desperate for some kind of anchor, some reassurance that I haven't completely lost my mind. But the words won't come. My thoughts are tangled, suffocating, impossible to shape into anything coherent.

  I don't know what's real anymore.

  The doctor notices my frustration and offers a thin, uncertain smile, like he's not sure if it will help.

  "Hey, you know what?" he says, tapping my shoulder. "That was actually a pretty good guess. Maybe you will figure out how to get us out of here."

  He meant to encourage me.

  But it doesn't work.

  "Kid," Dr. Lenny says, his voice softer now, "I know this is a lot to take in, but this... this isn't the world we knew out there. This place doesn't play by the same rules. It defies logic, so don't beat yourself up too much. A successful man's just someone who's failed more than a failed man... alright?"

  He's right, or at least, he's trying to be. I meet his gaze with a blank stare, feeling the weight of my own thoughts pressing down on me.

  I've solved crimes before.. picked apart clues, connected dots no one else could see. But never like this... never with an audience. This was my first attempt - my first chance to prove I could pull it off in front of someone else.

  And I failed.

  That realization burrows deep, sharp and cold , gnawing at something inside me. It's not just the mistake that stings; it's the fear that maybe I'm not as clever as I thought. The fear that I've been fooling myself all along.

  It's disappointing. Embarrassing.

  But i cling to the doctor's words to steady myself. I can't give up.

  I've failed before... but this time, failure isn't just mine to bear. If I screw this up... if I can't figure this out.. Grace, Dr. Lenny... everyone pays the price.

  Their lives hang in the balance, and I'm the one holding the thread.

  I can't afford to get this wrong.

  I need to talk to White. I need to know everything - who he really is, what he's hiding. Only then can I piece this mess together... and get everyone out safely.

  But what if I can't? What if I'm wrong again?

  The doubt coils tight, suffocating, dragging me down, whispering that I'm not good enough, that I've already failed.

  No.

  I grit my teeth, forcing the thought away. I can't let this break me. Not now.

  The flicker comes slowly, faint and fragile, but it grows, feeding off that stubborn refusal to quit. Before I know it, that spark has turned into fire, driving me off the bed before I even realize I'm moving.

  "Hey, we're not done yet," Dr. Lenny calls out. "I still need to check your cuts, remember?"

  "Oh... right." I pause, feeling foolish, and sit back down.

  Dr. Lenny kneels beside me, inspecting the gashes on my legs with practiced care. His fingers are firm but gentle as he prods the edges of the wounds.

  "Well," he says after a moment, "they're not infected, and they're not too deep. Did you get cut anywhere else?"

  I roll up my sleeves, revealing a few shallow scratches along my arm.

  He leans in, eyes narrowing as he traces the marks with his fingertips. "These aren't too bad either. You got lucky." His voice tightens, a flicker of something heavier bleeding through. "Most people who show up here... they're not this lucky. Some get torn up so badly we barely keep them alive. That's why I have to save the stronger ointments for the serious cases. I hope you understand."

  I nod. "Yeah... I get it."

  He rises and crosses the room, opening a cabinet. From inside, he retrieves a clay bottle - dark red with intricate carvings etched into its surface. It's beautiful, almost too delicate for a place like this.

  The carvings... they weren't just decorative. They told a story - something old, something forgotten. Something that felt far too familiar.

  "You can use the oil from this," Dr. Lenny says, holding it out to me. "Just... bring it back when you're done."

  "I will," I say quietly.

  As I stand, my legs feel shaky, but I manage. "Thanks, Doctor."

  He nods back. "You'll figure this out... I know you will."

  For a moment, I see something in his eyes - not quite pride, but something softer. Hope. Like he's choosing to believe in me, even if he's not sure I deserve it.

  I turn to leave, clutching the bottle tightly. The cool clay feels sturdy in my hand, like it's meant to endure. I slip it into my pocket, half-expecting it to shatter. But it doesn't. Somehow, it feels like the most solid thing in my life right now.

  Outside, the air is cooler than before, carrying the faint scent of earth and something sweet. Grace is sitting on a bench beneath a tree exploding with crimson-red flowers, delicate yet intense, as if the petals were burning embers. I don't recognize the type.

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  She hears my footsteps and turns, her face lighting up as she springs to her feet.

  "You're back!" she says, her voice bright - but a little too quick. "So... what did the doctor say? Everything's ok right? I was starting to worry - you took so long."

  Her concern feels warm, grounding, like a rope pulling me back to solid ground. For a moment, the chaos fades, and I remember why I'm still fighting to figure this place out.

  "Oh... sorry," I reply. "Didn't mean to keep you waiting. And yeah, I'm fine. The doctor said I don't even need ointment.

  "How long was I gone?"

  Grace grins, her eyes flickering with mischief. "Hmm... about 2,600 sheep, hehe

  What does that even mean?

  "Sorry for making you wait," I say again.

  "It's okay." She taps her cheeks playfully, her smile softening. "I'm just glad you're alright."

  "Thanks," I murmur, but my mind is already racing. The moment with Dr. Lenny, White, the loop, - it's all spinning together like pieces of a puzzle that just won't fit.

  "Can you... take me to White's house?"

  Her smile falters. "White's house?"

  "Yeah." My voice hardens. "I need to talk to him."

  "But why?" Grace presses, her voice sharper now. "And I told you... he won't talk to anyone." Her eyes narrow. "Chotto matte... how do you even know his name's White?"

  She pouts, glancing toward the doctor's office like she expects answers to come walking out the door.

  How can she be so carefree? I wonder. Knowing we're all going to die here...

  "Grace," I say, forcing my voice steady, "I really need to see him. Please."

  She exhales heavily, her shoulders sinking. "Sō ka.. okay then. This way - it's not even that far."

  Then her tone shifts, lighter now, like she's trying to pull me back to something normal. She smiles, warm and gentle, like this place isn't crumbling around us.

  "But after that," she adds, "we're gonna see your new houseee! It's not much, but I'll help you decorate it."

  Before I can answer, she grabs my hand.. soft and warm, like I expect it to take away all my problems.

  But it doesn't.

  She tugs me forward, her fingers curling tighter around mine. There's a little hop in her step, light, carefree - like she's skipping through a world that isn't slowly swallowing us whole.

  But unlike her, I can't forget the truth. Brutal and merciless. Everyone here has only a year to live. And if I fail... they'll all die.

  Grace will die.

  I should ask her how much time she has left... I should know... but the words won't come. Not yet. Not when I still don't have answers. And maybe... maybe I don't want to know.

  I tell myself she's probably safe - that her smile, her warmth, the way she skips ahead like nothing's wrong... it all means she's still got time. Plenty of time.

  But what if I'm wrong?

  The thought hits like ice water down my spine - sharp, cold, impossible to shake.

  It's been barely a day since I met her, yet she's already become... important. To this world... to me.

  If I can't stop this... if I can't figure out the twisted logic of this place... then what's the point in calling myself a detective? Or even a man?

  Lost in thought, I barely notice as we approach a house - simple yet striking. Even though it's made of wood, there's a certain elegance to it, like something you'd see in a high-end resort. Smooth, polished panels stretch across the walls, their rich, earthy tones glowing faintly in the dim light. The windows are wide, framed by clean lines, giving the place an open, inviting feel. It's the kind of house that feels... alive. Quietly breathing with the world around it.

  "Waaa!" Grace exclaims, her face lighting up. "It's... just like my dream house. Even after seeing it so many times, I still can't get over it..."

  Then I see him.

  White.

  He stands outside, still as a statue. Head tilted back, eyes locked on the sky. Something about him feels... wrong. Too still. Too distant.

  My chest tightens. Is he...

  Then I see it. The faint rise and fall of his chest. Shallow. Uneven. Like a wind-up toy running out of steam.

  But his eyes... they don't just stare at the sky - they cling to it, like something out there is staring back.

  I follow his gaze upward.

  The sky.

  A thin red crack bleeds across it, faint yet unmistakable, like a jagged wound splitting open the heavens. The crack pulsed... slow and steady, like a second heartbeat... one I was sure hadn't been there yesterday.

  "What... is that?" I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.

  Grace steps beside me. "Hey... what are you-"

  She sees it.

  I hear her breath hitch, sharp and ragged, like something's caught in her throat. When I glance at her, her face is drained of color, her wide eyes fixed on the sky. Tears well up, clinging to her lashes before rolling silently down her cheeks.

  "Grace?" I whisper. "Are you... okay?"

  She doesn't answer.

  "Hey..." I touch her shoulder, gently shaking her. "What's wrong?"

  Her eyes stay locked on the sky - wide, unblinking. Slowly, her lips curl upward, but there's no warmth in it. Just something stretched - unnatural - like a mask stitched too tight.

  Slowly, her head turns toward me.

  And that's when I see it. The smile.

  Twisted. Forced. Stretched too wide, too sharp - like someone had stitched her lips in place and pulled them tight. It's not joy. It's not even fear. It's something far worse.

  A smile that says I know what's coming... and there's nothing we can do.

  My mind spins, searching for answers, but none of it makes sense. The red glow, her tears, that awful smile... Is the light good? Is it bad? Will it save us... or destroy us? I don't know. I hate not knowing.

  "It's okay," I say, forcing calm into my voice. "I'll fix this. I'll get you out of here. I promise."

  I pull her into a hug, wrapping my arms tightly around her. She's trembling.. no, shaking, like her body's forgotten how to stay still. I feel her fingers twitch, like she's trying to hold on but can't.

  She doesn't hug me back; she just presses her face into my chest, her quiet sobs muffled against my shirt.

  For a moment, she clings to me like I'm the last solid thing in a world that's slipping away. And maybe... maybe I am.

  "Okay," she whispers at last, her voice barely audible. She steps back, wiping her face with her sleeve. For a second, she just stands there - shoulders rising and falling with each breath - like she's holding herself together with sheer willpower.

  Then, slowly... she smiles. Small at first, uncertain - but warm and real.

  But her eyes flick to the sky again... and that smile is gone.

  She turns aside, gesturing toward a wooden house. "Well... that's White's place. And that's White himself."

  "I can't come with you," she says quietly. "It'd just make things... awkward. He doesn't talk anyway."

  "Where are you going?" I ask, my concern slipping into my voice. "Will you be okay?"

  She nods and turns to leave but pauses, lingering in place like she's caught between words, like there's something she wants to say but can't.

  Her smile lingers, too - soft and fragile, like a flickering candle in the dark. And then it's gone.

  For a second, everything else, this twisted world, the crack in the sky, the people who've died - all of it vanishes. There's only her.

  And then I realize... I'm still holding her hand.

  I let go, my fingers cold where hers had been warm, like I'd lost something I didn't know I needed.

  "Ja ne," she says softly, her eyes meeting mine. Her voice wavers, just a little - like she's trying to sound casual but doesn't quite believe it herself.

  Then she turns away, her steps falling like whispers, fading into the distance, leaving only silence where she once stood.

  I take a deep breath.

  Focus.

  I turn back to White. He's still there - frozen in place, his head tilted back, eyes locked on that crimson crack in the sky.

  Why?

  Why isn't he moving?

  Why is he just... standing there?

  I swallow hard, my throat dry.

  Time to find out.

  I force myself forward, each step heavier than the last. White - he's the answer. He has to be. If I can just talk to him, I'll know what's happening - I'll know how to fix it. I'll know how to go home.

  My heartbeat quickens, pounding in my ears. The distance between us feels endless - like I'm walking through water, every step dragging me down.

  Why does he feel so far away?

  Panic twists in my chest, sharp and breathless. What if I never reach him? What if he fades away, just out of reach.. always there, but never close enough? What if I'm stuck here... chasing shadows forever?

  I push myself forward, faster now, almost running. I can't wait anymore. I need to know.

  Who are you?

  What is this place?

  How do I get us out?

  I stumble to a stop, breathless, just feet away.

  His head lowers, and his eyes lock onto mine.

  Cold. Sharp. Piercing, like a blade pressed to my throat.

  I stagger back instinctively. His hair - stark white - stops me cold. It wasn't like that before. But it's not just the color that unsettles me. It's the way he's looking at me... like I'm something broken. Like I'm something dangerous.

  "You did this," he says, his voice low and bitter. "You caused this."

  The air thickens, closing in around me.

  I freeze.

  No... no, that's not...

  But deep down, I know exactly what he means. The red glow in the sky, the crack that shouldn't be there. The crack I saw when...

  No.

  I swallow hard, my throat tightening. "What are you talking about?"

  He steps closer, slow and deliberate, each step calculated, like he's daring me to run. His gaze holds me in place, cold, certain, pitiless.

  "You know exactly what I'm talking about," he says.

  I shake my head, but it's a weak, hollow motion. "No... I-"

  "You did this." His voice drops to a whisper - softer now, but heavier than a scream. It clings to the air like smoke, curling around me, seeping into my skin.

  And then, the words that stop my heart.

  "Because of you..." His gaze sharpens - hard as ice, sharp as glass.

  "Grace is going to die."