Chapter 1 — Cold Silence
It was a cold day.
Colder than most.
Snowflakes drifted lazily from the grey sky, blanketing the city in a thin, shimmering veil. The wind came in gusts, whistling through the narrow alleys and between towering buildings, scattering the white crystals in swirling flurries. It was deep winter, and this particular day was one of the coldest the world had seen in years. The temperatures had dropped sharply overnight, and now the icy grip of the season pressed down on everything like an invisible weight.
Cities across the globe had issued warnings—storm alerts, hazardous wind chills, potential blackouts. Local authorities urged residents to stay indoors, to remain safe, to postpone travel. But as the morning dragged on, the streets slowly filled with life. Shops reopened, office lights flickered back on, and the people moved through the frostbitten air with weary determination.
The warnings had become background noise.
No one really listened anymore. Meteorologists had been wrong too many times, news outlets had long lost the public's trust, and the climate had grown too unpredictable to pin anything down with confidence. The chaos of the world had rendered certainty obsolete.
So even when danger loomed like a shadow at the edge of reason... life went on.
In a quiet corner of the city, tucked away in a well-kept medical building, a woman sat alone in her office. Her fingers were curled around a steaming porcelain cup, the aroma of jasmine tea rising gently toward her face. She stared through the frosted window, watching the falling snow with a look of distant thought.
Her name was Julia, and the soft glow of the ceiling lights bathed her in a muted warmth that stood in contrast to the chill outside.
The office was large and welcoming, painted in neutral tones and decorated with tasteful art. Soft music played faintly through a hidden speaker, and a small heater in the corner hummed contentedly, keeping the room perfectly warm. Everything about the space exuded comfort and calm—by design. Julia had built it this way over the years to help put her clients at ease.
She was a psychiatrist. One of the best in the city.
Her reputation was stellar, her patient list long, and her success stories many. People came to her with their fears, their traumas, their wounds both hidden and raw. She had helped teens overcome self-harm, guided broken adults away from suicide, and even rebuilt shattered marriages with the right words and relentless care.
She had seen it all—grief, delusion, denial, rage.
But nothing like him.
Julia glanced down at the file on her desk. The name at the top was neatly printed, though the pages inside were a mess of scribbled notes, circled observations, and half-completed thoughts.
Jack.
Sixteen years old. Smart. Quiet. Polite. And terrifying in a way Julia could never quite explain. In her twenty years of experience, no patient had ever left her as unsettled as this one. Not because he screamed or lashed out or made threats. No, Jack did none of those things.
He was... calm. Always.
Too calm.
And worse, no matter how many sessions they had, she never seemed to get any closer to understanding him. Every answer he gave only raised more questions. Every session ended with her feeling like the one who had been analyzed—not the other way around.
"Sigh…" She exhaled, rubbing the side of her forehead. "He should be here any minute now."
She reached again for the tea, letting the warmth of the cup chase away the chill that had crept into her chest. 'I need to stay focused. I've made some progress lately. He's opening up more... little by little.'
As if on cue, her office phone rang. She set the cup down and picked up the receiver.
"Yes, let him in." Her voice was steady, professional.
The call ended. She placed the receiver back into place and smoothed the fabric of her skirt as she straightened her posture. A few slow breaths. A practiced smile.
Then came the sound of the door clicking open.
Her eyes snapped toward it. Her heart ticked up—just a little—as Jack stepped inside.
He was exactly as she remembered him. Medium height, soft black hair that brushed the nape of his neck, and pale blue eyes that looked impossibly wide. He wasn't threatening in appearance—if anything, his features were somewhat delicate, boyish. He had a calm presence about him.
And yet, it was that calm that set her nerves on edge.
"Good morning, Jack," Julia greeted with a warm, practiced smile. "Come in and have a seat. I've been expecting you."
The boy gave a faint nod in reply, his expression unreadable as always. He walked silently to the leather chair across from her desk and sat down without a word.
"Did you have breakfast? Would you like some water or tea before we begin?"
Jack blinked, slowly, then gave a small shake of his head.
"All right. If you need anything, just let me know." She maintained her tone—gentle, reassuring.
"So... How are you feeling, Jack?"
The boy looked at her before he exhaled. "Sleepy."
"Oh, really? When did you go to bed last night?"
"I slept at 3:20 a.m.," he said, voice soft and emotionless.
"And how long did you sleep?"
"Three hours."
Julia frowned. "Only three? Last session you told me you managed five. What changed?"
There was a pause. Jack's gaze dropped to the floor.
"I dreamed."
"You dreamed?" Julia asked gently.
"I dreamed of the day I killed him," Jack said. "The dream stopped for a while... but now it's back. I can't stop thinking about it."
Julia froze for a beat, watching the subtle shift in his face. Beneath the calm exterior was something else—a cocktail of emotions that she couldn't fully name. Was it guilt? Euphoria? Confusion?
"Do you regret it?" she asked, carefully. "Do you regret pushing your friend off the ladder?"
Jack raised his head.
"Regret?" His voice changed—just a fraction. The atmosphere in the room thickened, like a drop in barometric pressure. "Should I?"
"Jack… do you not think that killing someone is wrong?" Julia pressed, cautious.
"I pushed him... because I wanted to." Jack looked at his own hands. "Why should I regret doing something I wanted to do?"
Julia leaned forward. "Because of the consequences, Jack. What you did caused pain. You've harmed others."
"Then everyone who causes harm should be punished?"
"Yes. That's part of justice, Jack. Actions have consequences."
He tilted his head slightly. "That includes you?"
Julia nodded, firm. "Yes. It includes me."
Jack pointed a pale finger at her.
"Then why did you cheat on your husband?"
"...What?"
"You fidget with your ring when you're stressed. A month and two days ago, you removed the photo of him from your desk. The red heart air freshener is gone from your car which was a gift from your husband on your marriage anniversary. I was curious… so I followed you. Two weeks ago, you met your lover at the Golden State Hotel at 7 p.m. and spent the night there before leaving around 8:30 a.m."
His tone was flat. Matter-of-fact. Not accusatory, not angry—just stating facts.
Julia's mouth went dry. Her fingers curled slightly over the edge of her desk.
"You were spying on me?" she asked, voice low.
"You told me to observe people. To study behavior. I studied yours." Jack's wide eyes never blinked. "So... if causing harm requires punishment, what's your punishment?"
Silence.
The room fell under a suffocating weight.
Julia couldn't speak. Her mind was screaming, racing, trying to find footing, a logical escape, anything to say that would wrestle back control.
But Jack wasn't done.
"Are we not allowed to hide mistakes?" he asked. "Or does hiding them make them worse? If you won't tell him the truth... then maybe you don't actually believe what you told me. Maybe punishment only applies to others and not to you. It only does when it's convenient to the rest."
She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. No words came.
"I'm done here," Jack said simply. He stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants. "Thank you, Miss Julia. Our sessions were... illuminating."
Without another glance, he turned, walked to the door, and slipped out.
As the door clicked shut, Julia stared in numb silence. The fear that had taken root in her chest now bloomed into full-blown dread.
Then her phone rang.
She looked down at the screen.
Her heart stopped.
The name on the screen sent a tremor through her hand as she reached for the phone.
"My Husband."