Chapter 1 : " BEFORE THE FLOOD "
The alarm pierces the silence.
John jolts awake, his hand blindly sweeping across the bed in search of his phone. Every night, it's the same ritual—he never remembers where he left it before sleep dragged him under. His fingers finally close around it beneath the pillow, just as it nearly slips to the floor.
He squints at the screen.
7:00 a.m.
Of course.
With a tired exhale, he silences the alarm but doesn't move. For a moment, he just lies there, staring into nothing. Then he reaches over and switches on the light. The ceiling comes into focus—plain, empty, unchanging.
"Another day," he murmurs. "Just like the last."
The words linger in the air longer than they should.
Eventually, he forces himself up and stumbles to the bathroom, splashing cold water on his face as if trying to wake something deeper than his body.
The kitchen feels unfamiliar.
John pauses at the doorway, uncertain. He's not used to this—being alone, figuring things out for himself. Usually, breakfast is already there, waiting. Prepared. Predictable.
Today, it isn't.
He opens the refrigerator.
Milk. Eggs. Tomatoes—soft, wrinkled, forgotten.
He frowns. When was the last time he even checked?
He shuts the door with a quiet thud and rubs his face.
"Great," he mutters. "Perfect start to the week."
With little enthusiasm, he fries the eggs and downs a cup of coffee, barely tasting it. Time is already slipping away. His office is twenty minutes out, and he can't afford to be late—not today.
Not again.
Dressed and ready, he hesitates for a moment before picking up a bottle of cologne from the shelf.
He studies it.
He rarely uses it.
Still, he sprays a little on his collar. The scent lingers—familiar, distant. A memory he doesn't quite want to revisit, yet never fully lets go of.
He exhales and grabs his keys.
The hallway is quiet.
Too quiet.
By the door sits the garbage bag, exactly where he always leaves it—and exactly why he always gets yelled at. A faint smirk crosses his face as an old memory surfaces, something awkward… almost embarrassing.
He shakes it off, picks up the bag, and steps outside.
Cool air greets him.
He checks his watch.
7:18 a.m.
Cutting it close.
He starts toward his car.
A hand grips his shoulder.
John flinches hard, spinning around.
"Damn it, Edward! How many times do I have to tell you—make some noise!"
Edward laughs, unfazed. "Relax. You jump like someone's after you." He tilts his head, amused. "I just came to say hi."
John exhales sharply, trying to steady himself.
"Have a nice day… little John."
There it is.
John's jaw tightens.
I hate that name.
"Yeah," he mutters, already turning away. "I've got to go."
Edward says something else—something John doesn't quite catch—but he doesn't stop to listen.
John tosses the garbage bag into the bin and gets into his car.
The engine starts.
For a moment, everything is normal.
Too normal.
Then—
He freezes.
On the passenger seat… lies his phone.
John frowns.
Slowly, he reaches into his pocket.
Empty.
His breath catches.
He remembers holding it. Turning off the alarm. Leaving it on the bed.
So how—
A faint vibration hums through the car.
The phone screen lights up.
Unknown Number.
John hesitates… then answers.
Silence.
Then—
A whisper.
"…You forgot something."
John's blood runs cold.
"Who is this?"
A pause.
Soft. Calm. Certain.
"Look in your rearview mirror."
John's hand tightens on the wheel.
Slowly… reluctantly… he lifts his eyes.
And looks.