Michael stood amid the tranquility of the Haul Academy library, the scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapping around him like a comforting blanket.
As Angela approached, he forced his racing heart to steady. The tiny book's cryptic secrets simmered just beneath the surface of his thoughts.
"Hey," Angela said, her voice brightening the dim corner of the library. "I was thinking - you should join me and my mom for dinner tonight."
Michael looked into her deep brown eyes. They sparkled with genuine warmth, completely unaware of the storm brewing within him.
"Yeah, sure, that sounds great. Thanks."
Angela smiled wider as she breathed a sigh of relief.
"I know she's been asking about you. It's been a while since we all hung out together, right? Plus, she makes the best lasagna. You have to try it!"
Michael nodded, his interest in dinner slightly piqued by the mention of lasagna, but his mind drifted back to the book.
"Sounds good." He admired how easy it was for Angela to focus on cheerful conversations. He wished he could join her in her light-hearted world, free from the burdens that pressed down on him like a heavy fog.
Angela continued, "I was just studying some history notes." She gestured to the stack beside her.
"You know, the whole ancient civilizations unit? It's fascinating. Did you know that some of them believed in mythical creatures and spirits? They thought these beings controlled their fates?"
Michael blinked, torn between the allure of Angela's words and the mysterious book's pull.
"Yeah, I've read a bit about that," he said, trying to sound engaged. "It's almost like they were searching for something to explain the chaos around them."
"Exactly!" she exclaimed. "It's like how we're dealing with everything now. You know, with Rossie's transformation and the moonflower… it's all so surreal. I mean, who would have thought we'd experience something so… out of our control?"
Michael felt a tightness in his chest. "It's like we're living in a story that hasn't been written yet."
Angela tilted her head, studying him for a moment.
"I've noticed you've been a bit distant lately. Is everything okay? You know you can talk to me, right?"
He hesitated, the weight of his secret pressing harder against him. What could he say?
"Yeah, I'm just… trying to process everything. It's a lot to handle."
She placed a reassuring hand on his arm, sending a jolt of warmth through him. "We're all in this together. It's okay to feel overwhelmed. Just promise you'll keep me in the loop?"
"Promise," he replied, fully aware that he was crossing his fingers internally.
She smiled again, but there was a flicker of concern in her eyes that he couldn't shake. "It might help to talk to Mrs. Robinson. She's dealt with all sorts of strange happenings in her life. Maybe she has insights."
Michael felt his heartbeat quicken once more. Mrs. Robinson. There was no doubt she might know of the ancient texts, their meanings entwined with the moonflower and the secrets that had eluded him. He considered the conversation that might unfold if he brought the book to her. "You're right. Maybe I will talk to her."
As Angela continued to chat about plans for the dinner, Michael's thoughts drifted again to the book nestled in his pocket. Each brush of fabric against the leather brought a rush of possibilities.
What if it held the answers they sought—the key to understanding Rossie's transformation and the power of the moonlightflower? Would it even be safe to explore?
"Are you listening?" Angela's voice cut through his reverie, and he caught her gaze.
"Sorry!" he blurted. "I was just… thinking about everything."
She laughed lightly, though he caught the slight edge behind it.
"You really need to stop being so serious all the time. Let loose a little."
Michael forced a grin, trying to appear lighter than the burden he carried. "Right, I'll work on that. Maybe tonight's dinner will help."
"Definitely!" she said. "I'll make sure there's enough for an army. You won't regret it."
As Michael watched her enthusiasm, he felt a flicker of hope spark inside him. Perhaps between the layers of cryptic symbols and their unsettling reality, moments like these, bursting with laughter and warmth, would help him decode whatever mysteries lay ahead.
But for now, the pull of the book remained, a secret tether to the unknown.
••••••••••••••••••••|••••••••••
Scene: Michael's Quest to Decipher the Book.
It was a quiet afternoon at 03:00 PMon Saturday, June 21, 2025, and Michael Thompson sat alone in his dorm room at Haul Academy, the tiny, untitled book spread out on his desk.
The events of the past week - the missing teens, Rossie's mission with Mara - had faded into the background as his curiosity consumed him. Determined to unravel its secrets, he pored over the cryptic script, squinting at the unfamiliar symbols under the dim light of a desk lamp.
He tried cross-referencing with online translation tools, scribbling notes in a frantic attempt to retranslate it himself, but the language eluded him - flowing, ancient, and resistant to every method he knew.
Frustration gnawed at him, yet the book's promise of lost wisdom and hope kept him going.
...The next day, he ventured into town, seeking a professional translator. At a small, cluttered office, he handed the book to an elderly linguist with thick glasses.
The man flipped through the pages, his brow furrowing.
"I've seen many scripts—Sanskrit, Aramaic, even some obscure dialects..but this… I can't make sense of it.
The characters shift when I look away, like they're alive." He returned the book, shaking his head, leaving Michael with more questions than answers
.A week later, Michael sat in a history class, his mind drifting as Mr. Harl lectured about medieval trade routes.
His phone buzzed discreetly in his pocket, and he glanced at the screen - a text from the translator:
"Found someone who might crack it. Come to the office ASAP." His heart leapt, the eagerness to uncover the book's secrets overwhelming him.
He raised his hand, interrupting the lesson.
"Mr. Harl, may I step out? I'm not feeling well - stomach issue."Mr. Harl nodded, concern flickering in his eyes.
"Alright, Michael, take care. See the nurse if it worsens."Michael grabbed his bag, slipping out quickly, his steps hurried as he headed for the door.
Ethan, seated nearby, narrowed his eyes, a flicker of suspicion crossing his face.
Something about Michael's sudden exit felt off - too rushed, too convenient. Angela, sitting a row behind, caught Ethan's look and stood, whispering, "I'm going after him." Her concern for Michael, mixed with curiosity, drove her forward.
"Angela, sit down!" Mr. Harl's voice cut through, sharp and authoritative. She froze, glancing back at Ethan, who met her gaze with a shared unease.
They exchanged a silent nod, their instincts aligning, as Michael disappeared around the corner, his mind racing with anticipation - and unaware of the suspicion trailing him.