Marcin sat slouched in the sterile light of the hospital waiting room, elbows on his knees, his fingers tracing the edge of the thin picture book resting in his lap. Forgotten Soldier, by Berend Vos. The title stared back at him in dull gold letters, the paper frayed where his thumb had worried it raw. His reflection warped faintly in the plastic cover—eyes red, hair disheveled, face drawn with exhaustion and disbelief.

  He sighed. The sound came out half-broken. The rhythmic tick of the wall clock was too loud, too slow. Every shuffle of nurses’ shoes in the hall made him flinch.

  The glass doors at the end of the corridor slid open with a soft hiss. A young woman stepped through, hesitant at first, then quickening when she saw him. She wore a dark coat over a pale sweater, and her hair—light brown, slightly damp from the evening rain—clung to her temples.

  Marcin blinked, confused, as she came closer.

  “Are you—Marcin?” she asked softly.

  He nodded, wary. “Yeah. Who are you?”

  She exhaled, as if rehearsing. “I’m Anna. Casimir’s classmate.”

  He frowned, still processing. “You… know him?”

  “I do,” she said, almost whispering. “We’re both in the school of philosophy.” She hesitated. “Is he-?"

  Marcin nodded slowly. “They said it was… maybe a seizure. Or shock. I don’t know. He—he was fine one second and then—” His voice trembled. “He just collapsed.”

  Anna’s eyes softened. She took the seat beside him. “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t know him that well. But he was kind to me.”

  Marcin looked down at the book again, tracing a finger over the letters Forgotten Soldier.

  “How did you even know?” he asked after a second.

  “I heard from Tina Fernsby that you had contacted her,” Anna said. “She told me what happened when I asked her if Casimir was busy tonight.”

  Marcin’s throat tightened. He dragged a shaky hand through his hair, his leg bouncing restlessly. “He just—he screamed, Anna. I’ve never heard anything like it.”

  Anna looked at him, her expression quietly breaking. Somewhere down the hall, a distant door clicked shut, and a nurse’s voice called a name neither of them knew.

  She folded her hands in her lap, whispering, “He must’ve been so scared.”

  Marcin nodded, staring at the book in his lap. “Yeah,” he said, voice low. “And the worst part is—I think… I think he wasn’t screaming because of pain.”

  Anna turned toward him slightly. “Then why?”

  Marcin swallowed hard, his eyes still fixed on the cover. “It sounded like he remembered something.”

  "How so?"

  Marcin didn’t answer. His eyes drifted to the picture book again — its pages half-opened, revealing a watercolor illustration of the fluffy black creature soldier standing before a field.

  He shut the book carefully, the sound of the cover snapping shut echoing faintly through the air.

  Anna looked toward the hallway, where the double doors to the intensive care unit stood closed, silent. Her reflection wavered faintly in the glass.

  “Casimir…” she whispered under her breath, almost as if afraid the name might vanish if spoken too loudly.

  Marcin said nothing. He only sat there, the picture book trembling slightly in his hands, listening to the hum of the lights and the slow tick of the clock.

  The automatic doors hissed open.

  A rush of cold air swept through the waiting room as footsteps clattered across the tiles.

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  “Marcin!”

  Tina’s voice cracked through the quiet, sharp and panicked. Her sneakers squeaked as she skidded to a stop in front of him, cheeks flushed, breath uneven.

  She tore off her glasses, wiped the fog from the lenses on her sleeve, and quickly shoved them back on. Her hair—disheveled from the run—was hastily adjusted with trembling hands.

  “S-sorry for being late,” she panted, trying to catch her breath. “The bus took forever—then the tram broke down—and—”

  She trailed off when her eyes landed on Anna sitting beside Marcin.

  For a moment, the whole room froze.

  Tina blinked once. Then twice. Her eyes widened, and a deep scarlet spread across her face. “HUH!? WHY ARE YOU GUYS SO CLOSE!?”

  Both Marcin and Anna flinched.

  “It’s not like that!!” they shouted in unison, voices overlapping in panic.

  Anna instinctively scooted a few inches away, flustered, her hands folded tightly in her lap.

  Marcin lifted his hands defensively, his voice rising, “She’s just a classmate, Tina! Calm down!”

  Tina puffed out her cheeks, glaring between them with exaggerated suspicion. “Sure, classmate. You looked really serious sitting there like that.”

  Anna’s face went pink. “We were talking about Casimir!”

  The nurse at the desk gave them a tired glance, and the three instantly quieted down, mumbling small apologies under their breath.

  Tina huffed, crossing her arms before sinking into the chair on Marcin’s other side. “Ugh. You scared me, you idiot,” she muttered, flicking his shoulder. “You didn’t pick up your pager.”

  "Yeah..." Marcin rubbed the back of his neck, still red. “Sorry. I—I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  For a while, no one said anything. Tina’s breathing slowed, though she kept darting sideways glances at Anna, who pretended not to notice.

  Finally, Tina sighed, voice quieter. “So… how is he?”

  Marcin hesitated. His fingers brushed over the spine of Forgotten Soldier again. “They said he’s stable… but they don’t know what caused it. One second, he was fine. The next, he just—” His throat tightened. “Screamed.”

  Tina’s bravado faltered, her eyes lowering. “That doesn’t sound like him at all…” she whispered.

  Anna nodded faintly. “It doesn’t.”

  The clock ticked on above them.

  Tina leaned back in her chair, whispering to herself, “Casimir… what happened to you?”

  Anna rose from the chair, her movements quiet but deliberate. Her eyes lingered on the sterile floor tiles for a moment, then on the door leading deeper into the ward.

  “I’m going to see him,” she said softly.

  Marcin and Tina both looked up.

  “Now?” Tina asked, clutching the book tighter to her chest. “But the nurses said they might still be running tests—”

  “I just want to see if he’s awake,” Anna replied, her tone calm but her face unreadable. “Even if he’s asleep… I just need to know he’s okay.”

  Marcin gave a small nod, weary and unsure. “Alright. We’ll stay here.”

  Anna turned toward him and offered a faint, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

  Tina huffed and crossed her arms, trying to seem nonchalant but failing. “Fine. But don’t—don’t like, talk about weird things again, okay? He needs rest.”

  Anna’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smile. “I won’t.”

  She turned and began walking down the corridor, her shoes clicking softly against the linoleum. The air grew quieter as she moved farther away from the waiting room—every fluorescent light humming like an insect trapped in a jar.

  Marcin watched her go until she disappeared around the corner. Then, exhaling, he slumped back in his chair.

  Tina leaned forward, noticing the slim book in Marcin’s lap. Its cover was dark, frayed at the corners.

  Her brow furrowed. “What’s that?”

  Marcin looked down at it, almost forgetting it was still there. He ran his thumb along the edge of the paper, hesitant. “This? It’s… what started everything.”

  Tina tilted her head, adjusting her glasses. “What do you mean?”

  Marcin exhaled slowly. “It’s called Forgotten Soldier. Some picture book we found in the children’s section.”

  Tina blinked. “A children’s book?”

  He nodded, voice dropping. “Yeah. Except it’s not like any I’ve ever seen. The writing was… strange. Like poetry. About death, memory, and snow. And when Casimir saw it—” He stopped, searching for words that didn’t sound insane. “He froze. Like he recognized something.”

  Tina frowned. “Recognized it? But it’s just a random old book.”

  Marcin shook his head. “No. You didn’t see his face. It wasn’t just shock. It was like—” He looked at Tina, struggling to explain. “—like the words reached into his head and pulled something out. Like memories were being forced awake.”

  Tina’s eyes widened slightly, her voice soft but trembling with unease. “Memories? Of what?”

  Marcin stared down at the cover again. “I don’t know. But before he screamed, he said a name.”

  “What name?” Tina asked, her tone sharpening.

  Marcin’s fingers tightened around the book. “Nine.”

  Silence.

  Tina’s expression changed—something flickered behind her eyes.

  Recognition? Fear? For a second, she almost looked pale.

  “‘Nine,’” she repeated under her breath, as if testing the sound. “Like the number? That’s… a strange thing to say.”

  Marcin nodded faintly, his voice hollow. “It was like he was talking to someone who wasn’t there.”

  “Can I see the book?” Tina asked firmly.

  Marcin hesitated but handed it to her.

  Tina opened it gingerly, flipping through the pages—slowly, as though afraid the words themselves might burn. Her eyes scanned the faded ink and eerie rhymes, lips parting in a whisper.

  “This… doesn’t feel like something meant for children. I’ve read a lot of fairy tales, and none of them ever felt like this. This one feels like it’s hiding something—like it was written for someone.”

  Marcin swallowed hard. “Maybe it was...”

  Tina sat down beside him, opening the Forgotten Soldier again, whispering to herself, “I don’t get it… How can a story make someone lose their mind?”

  Marcin rubbed his temples, staring off toward the corridor. “Berend Vos,” he said. “I don't think this person is just an author..."