I don’t remember the sound of the birds this morning. I woke up just before the bell tower struck six, or at least I thought it did. I waited for the chime, but it never came. Only silence. Elijah was already outside, standing in the orchard barefoot, facing the wrong direction. He said he was “listening to the roots.” I laughed, but he didn’t. He gave me an apple. It was warm in his hand but ice cold when I bit into it. I feel strange today, like I’ve woken up a few seconds too late for something I was supposed to catch. The bakery was closed, and Mr. Whitlow’s shop was boarded up. But no one seems concerned. Elijah says the town isn’t real. That if I held my breath long enough, I’d see the seams in the sky. He says I’m the only thing keeping him from letting go completely. I’m not sure what that means. I think I enjoy his company, I think I always have. But some nights, I dream I’m someone else, or that he is. The worst part is… I’m beginning to think he might be right. — J.