ECHOBURN

It was almost three in the morning when Aoto woke up to the sound of humming.

Not music. Just a soft, high-pitched tune, broken by random giggles and the sound of something rustling.

He sat up, eyes bleary. His room was dark, except for the low citylight glow leaking through the blinds.

The torn pages from the book were scattered across the floor like leaves.

And sitting in the middle of them, legs crossed, humming and folding one page into a paper airplane, was a child.

Maybe five years old. Messy hair like spilled ink. Wide, shining eyes. A tiny hoodie two sizes too big. Bare feet swinging slightly as he sat.

The boy looked up and grinned.

"Oh hey! You're awake! Took you long enough."

Aoto blinked.

Then stared harder.

The boy waved a crumpled paper airplane at him.

"I fixed page six," he said proudly. "It flies now!"

Aoto's voice cracked. "Who the hell are you?"

The boy tilted his head. "Dog-Eared. That's what they used to call me. I think. Or maybe I made it up! You're the Reader, right?"

"…What?"

"You opened me. Well, sort of. You didn't finish. That's why I'm all weird and itchy and floaty." He pulled at his own arm like it didn't quite fit right. "You really messed the pages up, y'know. But that's okay! I don't mind. I like being out. It's boring in there."

He leaned in a little, whispering like it was a secret.

"Books aren't supposed to breathe."

Aoto slowly stood, unsure if he was still dreaming.

The kid began hopping around the room on one foot, flipping over scattered pages and stacking them into a messy pile. Every now and then, he'd sniff one or lick the edge.

Aoto took a step back toward the door.

"Mom?" he called, voice shaky. "Hina?"

Dog-Eared popped up in front of him instantly, grinning from ear to ear.

"They can't see me yet. Not until you break more."

"What does that mean?"

"Dunno! I just say things that sound important." He beamed, then held up a torn bit of the cover like a trophy. "You wanna glue me back together? Or do you wanna burn?"

Aoto backed away slowly, chest tight. "You're the book."

Dog-Eared gasped dramatically, arms flailing.

"Gasp! He figured it out!" Then he giggled like it was the funniest thing in the world and rolled over onto his back, kicking his legs in the air.

"I don't get it," Aoto muttered. "You're… a kid."

Dog-Eared sat up again, smile fading just slightly.

"Yeah," he said. "That's how your mind made me. Easier, huh?"

A long silence passed between them.

Aoto stared.

The child stared back, unblinking.

Then Dog-Eared gave a small shrug, stood up, and began to walk toward the window, dragging the pile of papers behind him like a stuffed animal.

As he reached the glass, he pressed one palm to it and peered outside.

Then, without turning around, he said softly—

"You're about to go to hell and back, Aoto."

Aoto felt every hair on his body rise.

The child didn't laugh this time.

Just stared out the window.