Chapter 2 — The Street With No Shadows
Avery didn't remember falling asleep, but they remembered waking—
because the city was whispering.
A low hiss seeped through the window screen, threading through the dark like a needle pulling sound instead of cloth. At first Avery thought it was the radiator. Then a stray cat. Then wind.
But the city didn't have wind at 3:14 a.m.
It barely had breath.
Avery sat up slowly.
The whispering came from outside, from the alley behind their building.
And it was saying their name.
Not clearly.
Not in a human tongue.
But in a rhythm that matched the way Jordan said it when he was worried.
The sound curled around their ribs.
Avery slid on a hoodie, grabbed their phone, and stepped into the hallway. Every door was shut, every light off. Yet the building felt awake—like it was leaning slightly toward the alley, listening.
When Avery pushed the back door open, the air was wrong.
Thin.
Colorless.
The alley wasn't supposed to be this dark. There should've been the yellow glow from the convenience store sign across the street. But tonight the light didn't reach here. It stopped abruptly at the mouth of the alley, as if afraid to enter.
Avery whispered, "Jordan?"
Nothing answered.
They took one step in.
Then another.
No shadow followed them.
That's when they realized the problem wasn't the missing light—
it was the missing dark.
The alley walls, the ground, the trash bins—every surface reflected a faint chalky gray, the exact shade of a fading dream. Avery moved their hand in front of their face; even that didn't cast a shadow.
Something had erased them.
A scraping sound echoed behind Avery.
They turned sharply.
Jordan stood at the alley entrance.
But Jordan cast a shadow.
It spilled unnaturally long behind him, stretching past the street, past the sidewalk, reaching into places shadows weren't supposed to reach. A long dark tether, anchoring him to something Avery couldn't see.
And his eyes—
they reflected the world like polished glass, not like eyes at all.
"Avery," Jordan said softly.
It wasn't his voice.
It wasn't even human.
It sounded layered, like several versions of Jordan speaking at once—future, past, distorted.
"You should not be here."
Avery froze. Their phone buzzed in their pocket—a message from Jordan.
Jordan (real one):
Don't go outside. Something's wrong near your building. I'm on my way.
Avery looked up.
The one standing in front of them smiled slowly, like a shadow learning how to imitate a grin.
"You aren't him," Avery said.
The not-Jordan took one step forward. When his foot touched the ground, dust rippled out in a perfect circle, rising like breath.
"Cities dream," the thing said.
"And dreams remember you."
Avery backed away, heart hammering.
The alley deepened behind them, almost expanding—like a throat opening.
"Come deeper," the shadow-thing whispered.
"Where nothing casts shadows. Where even memories dissolve."
Avery turned and ran.
The alley twisted in ways it had never twisted, stretching like it was being rewritten under their feet. Every few steps the walls changed texture—brick, concrete, smooth bone-white stone that wasn't stone at all.
Behind them, the thing followed.
Not with footsteps—
with silence.
Silence that moved.
Avery burst out onto the next street—
only to stop dead.
This street had no shadows either.
Streetlamps glowed white, the pavement the same washed-out gray as the alley.
And at the center of the street stood something tall and slender, wrapped in strips of dust that fluttered like fabric underwater.
It turned toward them.
Avery didn't wait to see its face.
They sprinted, lungs burning, until the city shifted again—
and this time, they ran straight into Jordan.
The real one.
He grabbed their shoulders. "Avery! What happened?"
Avery tried to speak, tried to describe the alley, the shadowless street, the not-Jordan, the dust creature.
But only one sentence came out:
"The city knows us."
Jordan paled.
From behind them—
from the streets where shadows had died—
something exhaled.
A long, low breath.
And the city…
breathed back.