Noel didn't sleep again after the dream.
The violet light that had shimmered faintly in her palm haunted her even as the morning sun spilled across the windowsill. It was gone now—if it had ever been real—but the image lingered like an afterimage burned into her vision.
She made tea—not for comfort but out of habit—and sat at her kitchen table, files open on her laptop. The images: stained-glass depictions, color-coded robes, fragments of ancient texts—were too clean, too perfectly curated. As if someone had not only known she would find them but had wanted her to.
"Jack," she said quietly, hoping he was listening. "You're sure you didn't send these?"
A pause. Then, his voice—low, steady. "I didn't. I wouldn't know how. Not in your world. Not in... this form."
She tapped her fingers against the ceramic mug, eyes locked on the screen. "Then someone knows about you. About me. About what's happening."
Another pause. "That's... troubling."
Noel frowned. "Troubling is putting it lightly."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken questions and quiet dread.
"But the files," she continued, clicking through pages. "They're detailed. Color theory. Hierarchy systems. Myths about power convergence. This isn't just documentation—it's knowledge someone tried to bury."
"Or someone wanted remembered," Jack replied. "Sometimes, the only way to preserve truth is to scatter it in shadows."
That made her glance up, eyes narrowing. "What does that mean?"
He didn't answer directly. Instead, his tone softened, almost nostalgic. "There was someone... back then. A friend. She believed the system was broken, like I did. Smarter than all of us. Quiet. Calculated. Always watching. If anyone would leave breadcrumbs for someone like you... it would be her."
Noel's pulse quickened. "Someone you trusted?"
"Yes," he said after a pause. "The only one who never looked at me like I was less."
Noel leaned back in her chair, heart uneasy. The idea of a silent ally within the Spectra was both reassuring and terrifying. If this person was still alive—if they'd left these files intentionally—it meant they were watching. It also meant they had access to information no one else should.
"Do you think she could help us now?" she asked.
"I don't know," Jack replied. "If she's still out there... she's playing a very long, very dangerous game."
Noel closed the laptop with a soft snap and stood. She didn't want to think about spectral politics or ancient conspiracies anymore. Not today.
"I'm going to work."
"Understood."
...
The morning air was brisk, the city moving with the practiced urgency of another weekday. Noel pushed through the museum's tall glass doors, her coat wrapped tight, her mind far from the tasks ahead.
She kept glancing at her right palm, where the violet shimmer had glowed the night before. There was nothing now—just skin, warm and ordinary. But she couldn't forget it.
Jack was silent again, but not in the comforting way he had been. This silence felt off, like someone trying to hide behind it.
She reached her office door and hesitated before opening it. A pit formed in her stomach.
Inside, everything looked as she'd left it. Her desktop was still on—perhaps she'd simply forgotten to shut it down—but something was different.
A small blinking icon glowed in the corner:
"Unread Message: Archive Flagged – Security Layer Broken."
Her heart skipped.
She clicked it.
> Access Alert:
Unauthorized viewing of sealed files.
Logged by: Spectra Network – City Branch.
Action Pending.
Noel's blood ran cold.
"Jack…" she whispered.
His voice came slowly, hesitant. "That wasn't me. I don't know how those files showed up. But if they're tracking this, we need to be careful."
"You said you didn't want to pull me in."
"I still don't. But this... this may no longer be a choice."
Noel started pacing. "What happens if they realize I have you in my head? If they come after me?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "They didn't even seal me properly. The fact you broke it—partially—might mean more than we think. You're not just hearing me anymore. You're syncing."
"Syncing?"
"With my energy. My memory. Maybe even... my abilities."
She stopped pacing. "Jack. What exactly are your abilities?"
He paused, voice almost reluctant. "Before the seal, I could see patterns—fractures in lies, invisible connections. I could touch objects and feel their memory. I once stopped a riot by showing them the truth in their own hands." A breath. "But now? I don't know what's left."
She sank slowly into her chair. "And you think I might be... gaining that?"
"Something like it."
Before she could respond, her phone buzzed—an unknown number. Her breath caught.
It stopped after one ring.
Then, an email.
No subject. A museum staff address she didn't recognize. Just one attachment.
An old photograph.
Grainy, black-and-white. Six robed figures stood around a glowing prism in a dark, circular chamber.
Her heart stuttered.
It was the scene from her dream.
She zoomed in.
In the bottom corner—almost invisible—was a faded timestamp.
March 27, 1974.
Exactly 48 years ago.
"Jack," she breathed. "Is this the sealing?"
Silence.
Then: "Yes. That was the last thing I saw before the dark took me."
Noel felt the weight of it press down on her chest.
Whoever sent the image knew.
They were watching.
And they were drawing her in.
She wasn't just caught in a mystery anymore.
She was part of it.
And then, just before closing hours, she got a message from the museum's archivist.
> "Hey Noel, weird delivery came in. Looks like a collection from the Crestmont estate. Didn't have it on any schedule. Want to take a look?"
The Crestmont estate.
That name had come up in one of the Spectra files. A footnote in an old ledger—barely noticeable, but now impossible to ignore.
Noel stared at the message, blood running cold.
Coincidence?
Or the next breadcrumb?
She didn't wait to decide. Grabbing her coat, she headed for the stairs.
Whatever this was... it was only just beginning.