Chapter 10 #2
I lay back down, staring at the ceiling.
I tried to distract myself, to forget the door, forget the lock, to do whatever I could in a desperate attempt not to let my thoughts spiral around it.
I looked toward the corner that was usually occupied by the same spider that had been there since my twelfth birthday, but it was gone.
It was as if, no matter what, my thoughts kept being pulled back to that door.
I guess that once something enters your awareness, it doesn’t leave just because you decide to ignore it.
No questions formed fully; they moved beneath the surface instead, unfinished and incomplete. And then, movement. Small and peripheral, if I wasn’t already hyperaware, I probably wouldn't even have noticed.
My body reacted before my mind did. My eyes shifted slowly toward the desk under my window to find the chair occupied.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing. Because it was too clear. Way too solid to be dismissed. Someone sat in my chair.
The first thing I noticed wasn’t his face; it was his build.
Broad and undeniable. The kind of body that doesn’t need to prove anything, because it already has.
Then my eyes moved higher. His face, and something inside me paused, because it was familiar.
Not in a way I could explain, not in a way I could make sense of, just familiar enough that it felt wrong not to recognize him.
Dark hair, almost black. Eyes that held something I had seen before, somewhere, on someone.
The realization hovered just out of reach, close enough to feel, too far to grasp.
He wore black. A fitted simple t-shirt, black cargo pants, and heavy boots that looked like they belonged somewhere colder.
Everything about him felt intentional, even the way he looked at me.
No hesitation in it, only something that felt like he already knew. A slow smile touched his mouth.
“You’re Rowan.”
My name sounded different coming from him. He leaned back in the chair, like he had all the time in the world, like this moment had been inevitable. Then his gaze hardened, and the next words came softer, more dangerous-sounding, almost like a threat.
“You can call me Zwierek.”
The way he said it, it didn’t sit right. Like the name didn’t belong in the room, but he did. My body had already decided something before I caught up to it.
I hadn't pulled back, not physically nor mentally, not even a little.
There was a pause, but it wasn’t empty. It felt…
full. Like something was happening inside it that I just couldn’t see yet.
His eyes moved over my face again, slower this time.
Not curious, more like… checking. As if he already knew what he was looking for and just needed to confirm it was actually there.
I held it. Didn’t look away, didn’t drop my gaze like I probably should have. There are moments where you understand the rules without being told; this felt like one of them. And I knew, somewhere in the back of my head, that this wasn’t the kind of person you test without consequences.
And still… I didn’t move, and neither did he. That was the first thing that settled in. Most people adjust themselves in a new space. They shift their position, look around, attempt to fill the silence with something small and human just to break it. But he didn’t.
He sat like the room had already been mapped, like he had been there longer than me.
One arm resting loosely against the back of the chair, fingers hanging over the edge, while his other hand tapped once against the desk like a thought landing.
His eyes hadn’t left me, not properly. They moved, but only within a limit.
Face, shoulders, hands, and back again. Tracing me.
It should have made me uncomfortable, but it didn’t, and that bothered me more than anything else.
I shifted, adjusting against the mattress, barely, just enough for the fabric to move under my hand. His gaze dropped to it instantly, then back up. There it was again, that almost smile. Not really a smile, something much more subtle than that. Like awareness without warmth.
“You don’t say much,” he said.
I didn’t react, and I didn’t need to. My silence carried something here.
He leaned forward in the chair, enough that it changed the angle between us. “You see things, though.”
His head tilted just a fraction, studying me like he was adjusting something in his mind rather than in the room.
“I can tell.”
My fingers stilled completely. Too late; he’d already seen it. A slow exhale left him, almost satisfied but not in a way that made sense yet. His gaze flicked past me for the first time toward the door to the hallway as if he could see through the wall and then back to me.
“You noticed that before you came in here.”
Again, not a question.
My eyes didn’t move, but something in my expression must have, because he let out the smallest breath of something that might have been amusement.
“Yeah.” Soft, like confirming something to himself.
“You’re trying to understand why.”
That one landed differently, because I was.
Not just him, but the door, the lock, the fact that he was here now, in my room, sitting in my chair like none of it needed explaining.
My gaze flickered, briefly this time, toward the hallway and then back to him.
That was enough; it always was. His head tilted a little more this time.
“There it is…”
“You don’t need words.” There was a small pause, then he continued.
“They keep it locked because it’s easier that way.”
His tone didn’t change, but something underneath it shifted.
“People like clear lines.” His fingers stopped moving.
“Inside. Outside.” A small breath.
“Safe. Not safe.”
His eyes stayed on mine the entire time.
“And when something doesn’t fit those lines…” He didn’t finish it immediately, just looked at me.
“They lock it away.”
My chest felt… tight. He leaned back again, the chair making the smallest sound against the floor.
“They think it’s control.” A small beat.
“It’s not.” Another pause, longer this time.
“It’s because they’re scared of what will happen if they can’t contain it.”
That sat differently. Like a fact that didn’t need emphasis. My fingers curled into the fabric of the bed. He noticed that too, of course, but this time he didn’t comment on it, just looked like he took a mental note of it.
“You’re not scared.”
He didn’t sound surprised. My eyes held his, unmoving. Something in his expression changed again, not visible enough to name but enough to feel. “Interesting.”
He said it like it meant something. Like I meant something. And for a second, just a second, the room didn’t feel like mine anymore. You know that feeling, don’t you?
It’s small, almost nothing, but it’s there. The moment when something unfamiliar stops feeling distant and starts feeling close, closer than it should. That’s the part you should pay attention to, little Ghost.