Chapter 4 – Call to Adventure

I didn’t make it three blocks.

That was the new record.

My phone vibrated hard enough to feel personal, and I nearly dropped it into the gutter. Unknown number again. Same problem.

“Please don’t be breathing this time,” I muttered, answering it.

Silence.

Then—

“Do not go to his apartment.”

I stopped walking.

The voice was not the one from before. This one was calm, professional, and very tired.

“Is this a threat?” I asked.

“It’s advice.”

“From who?”

The line went dead.

I stood there, staring at my phone like it might apologize.

“Well?” I said. “Thoughts?”

Death did not answer immediately.

That was becoming her way of saying this is bad.

You were already observed, she said at last. This was inevitable.

“I hate that word,” I said. “It’s lazy.”

It used to be accurate.

I turned anyway.

His apartment was on the fourth floor of a concrete block that smelled like fried oil and damp paper. The elevator was broken, because of course it was, and I took the stairs two at a time, ignoring the growing tightness in my chest.

The door was unlocked.

That was the second red flag.

The third was the silence.

No TV. No music. No angry neighbor yelling into a phone. Just stillness, pressed too neatly into the space.

I stepped inside.

“Hey,” I called. “It’s me. You texted first, so if this is a trap, I’m legally allowed to be annoyed.”

No answer.

The lights flicked on when I flipped the switch. One bulb buzzed, then steadied.

The place was empty.

Not clean. Not orderly.

Empty in the way a room gets when someone leaves in a hurry—or doesn’t leave at all.

Papers were scattered across the desk. Printouts. Notes. Handwritten annotations in the margins.

I recognized the data immediately.

Prediction tables.

Probability thresholds.

Internal confirmation logs.

“Idiot,” I whispered. “You printed it.”

He wanted a version they could not alter remotely, Death said.

“That’s… actually smart.”

The bedroom door was open.

I didn’t want to look.

I looked.

No body.

That was the good news.

The bad news was the wall.

Numbers were written across it in black marker. Dates. Times. Locations. All overlapping, layered like someone had been racing themselves.

In the center, underlined twice:

EXCEEDING LIMITS

I took a step back.

My phone buzzed again.

This time, it was a notification I recognized.

FORECAST CONFIRMATION: ACTIVE

The timestamp was now.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

It means someone is observing you as an event, Death said.

“That’s rude.”

It is dangerous.

The air shifted.

Not dramatically. Not like in movies.

Just enough to feel wrong.

My phone screen lit up on its own.

A countdown appeared.

00:00:30

“Oh no,” I said. “Absolutely not.”

I backed toward the door.

The countdown kept going.

00:00:24

“Okay,” I said, louder, “I would like to formally opt out.”

They have assigned a probability, Death said. They are waiting to see if it resolves.

“Resolves into what?”

Your death.

The word hit harder than I expected.

Not because I hadn’t thought about dying before—but because someone else had already decided how likely it was.

The countdown sped up.

00:00:10

“Nope,” I said. “This is where I draw the line. I don’t get scheduled.”

I ran.

Down the stairs, two at a time, nearly slipping on the last landing. The door burst open as I hit it, spilling me back onto the street.

The countdown hit zero.

Nothing happened.

No impact. No accident. No sudden pain.

Just a sharp buzzing behind my eyes.

Then—laughter.

Not mine.

Inside my head, Death exhaled, long and deep, like someone waking fully for the first time in decades.

Interesting, she said.

“What?” I gasped, hands on my knees.

They miscalculated.

I straightened slowly.

“That’s it?” I said. “That was their big move?”

Yes.

“And they missed.”

Because they assumed the end was fixed, Death said. It is not. Not anymore.

The city moved on around me. Cars passed. People laughed. A couple argued over dinner plans.

I stood there, shaking.

“So,” I said, voice thin, “let me get this straight. Someone tried to kill me using math. Failed. And now you sound… awake.”

I am awake, Death said. And they have noticed.

A chill ran through me.

“That sounds like the opposite of good news.”

It is the call.

I laughed weakly.

“Figures.”

I looked back at the building, at the quiet windows, at the room where someone had gotten too close to the truth.

“Okay,” I said. “I’m in.”

You do not yet understand what that means.

“I understand enough,” I said. “Someone’s treating people like variables. I don’t like that.”

Death was silent for a moment.

Then—

Very well.

Something settled into place behind my thoughts. Not weight. Not pressure.

Presence.

From this point forward, she said, you will no longer merely observe the end.

I swallowed.

“…And?”

You will interfere.

I closed my eyes.

“Great,” I said. “I knew today felt important.”