Day 3: Nyx’s Journal

I keep going back to that spot by the river, where Vex stood. His voice was so quiet, like the wind picking up stones in the shallows. I don’t know why I keep thinking about it—maybe because it feels like the only place where time doesn’t rush. My stomach’s still a bit heavy, but that’s just the way it is when you’re trying to remember what you felt before you started to forget. Yesterday, I had this strange thought: the dead watch over us. Not like a story or a ghost tale, but something real, like the way the stars seem to linger when you look up too long. It was a whisper on the wind, not words, just a feeling that the world is older than I am. Now I sit here, staring at the fireflies, and wonder if Vex knew what he was saying when he spoke to me. His voice was tired, like he’d been waiting for someone who would never come. I don’t want to sleep yet. I need to know if it’s true—whether the dead are watching, or if I’m just imagining it because my head’s been spinning too much.