*PROLOGUE*

The light remembers.

That’s the first rule no one wrote down.

---

*Year 51. Cebu City. 2:17am. Rain.*

Ari is 18 and she is supposed to be dead.

Not literally.

She just feels like it.

Closing shift.

87 pesos.

40-minute walk home.

No bus.

No umbrella.

The convenience store lights flicker when she locks the door.

Once.

Twice.

Then they go out.

Across the street, one window stays on.

Third floor.

Yellow.

Like it’s waiting.

She tells herself it’s stupid.

She tells herself to keep walking.

Her feet don’t listen.

The paper on the door is wet.

Ink bleeding.

`Door’s open. We’re tired sometimes. Come in anyway.`

Ari pushes it.

Heat hits her face.

The smell of ginger and old sugar.

15 people on the floor.

No one looks up.

Like they knew she was coming.

In the middle: one pot.

White with blue flowers.

Chipped handle.

Steam curling up even though no one’s watching it.

A girl, maybe 20, stands.

Hands Ari a towel without looking at her.

“Wet ka,” she says.

“Upo.”

“May tsaa.”

Ari sits.

Her hands shake.

Someone passes her a mug.

The tea is already poured.

She drinks.

It tastes like her Lola’s kitchen.

Lola died 3 years ago.

Ari hasn’t tasted this since the funeral.

“Who are you,” Ari whispers.

The girl shrugs.

“We’re just the ones who didn’t turn the light off.”

At 4am the room empties.

“Ingat,” they say.

No one asks her name.

No one asks why she’s crying.

On the way out, Ari sees the shelf.

22 notebooks.

Photocopied.

Handwritten.

The third one is open.

First line:

`If you’re awake, come in.`

Under it, in different ink:

`She came. -R. Year 1.`

`She came back. -Ren. Year 2.`

`She brought tea. -Mara. Year 3.`

Ari touches the page.

The paper is warm.

Like someone just set the mug down on it.

She takes the notebook.

“Can I,” she asks.

The girl nods.

“Copy it when you’re done,” she says.

“Pass it on.”

---

*Year 51. San Jose del Monte. 10:03pm.*

Little Ren is 67.

His hands shake now too.

He sits in the chair.

The same one.

The light is on.

As always.

But tonight, the bulb buzzes.

Once.

Twice.

Then holds.

He closes his eyes.

He sees Cebu.

He sees a girl with wet hair holding Notebook 3.

He doesn’t know her name.

He doesn’t need to.

He whispers,

“Keep it on.”

Somewhere, the light answers.

---

*Year 51. City Hall. 11:00pm.*

A new paper is posted.

Stamped.

Official.

`ORDINANCE NO. 2049: WINTER LAW`

`No unregistered gatherings after 10:00pm.`

`No open residences for non-family after curfew.`

`Violators will be fined and residence closed.`

The clerk pins it to the board.

Outside, the rain keeps falling.

On thousands of windows.

Some of them are still on.

---

This is Book 2.

Book 1 was about one person being reborn.

Book 2 is about the rebirth learning how to travel.

The supernatural isn’t spells.

It’s tea that tastes like grief.

It’s a notebook that’s warm.

It’s a light that finds you when you’re supposed to be dead.

The school is the city now.

The tragedy is the law.

The adventure is keeping the door open anyway.

The past gave us the light.

Now the future has to carry it.

Through rain.

Through curfew.

Through cities that forgot how to stay awake for each other.

*End of Prologue*

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