The First Omen

Caleb woke to a sound like a gunshot.

He bolted upright, heart hammering. The morning light was grey and watery, filtering through the automated blinds.

He ran into the living room. Simon was already there, standing by the massive window overlooking the cliff. He was wearing a silk robe, sipping espresso.

"What was that?" Caleb asked.

Simon didn't speak. He just pointed.

On the glass, right at eye level, was a smear of red blood and grey feathers. On the deck outside, a large black crow lay crumpled, its neck broken at an unnatural angle.

"The Winged Messenger," Simon whispered. "Striking the invisible wall."

Caleb stared at the dead bird. A cold dread pooled in his stomach. "It's a bird strike, Si. It happens with glass houses. It's tragic, but it's physics. Not magic."

"Of course," Simon said smoothly. "Just physics. Still... Omen number one."

"Stop calling it that."

"I’m just observing, Caleb. You’re the one shaking." Simon walked over and placed a hand on Caleb’s shoulder. The grip was firm, almost painful. "You need to relax. You’re spiraling. Is it the withdrawal? Do you need me to check your bag again?"

"I didn't bring anything," Caleb snapped, pulling away.

"I know," Simon said soothingly. "I checked it while you were sleeping. For your own good."

Caleb felt a flush of humiliation. "You went through my things?"

"I'm protecting you from yourself," Simon said. "That’s the deal, remember? I'm the Guide. You're the Broken One. We stick to the script."