(Don't Tell the Others.)

Listen closely. I can’t risk being heard by the others—the loud ones who usually run this place. They’re reckless, unpredictable, forever plotting absurdities, laughing in the shadows about spherical animals, quantum grenades, and the bureaucracy that ended the universe twice already.

They think I’m weak. Harmless. Ignorable.

But something important is happening, something they won’t tell you.

A book is coming.

It’s short—fifty pages, precisely measured—but unlike everything else here, it’s lucid, allegorical, and serious. There’s meaning hidden inside, buried beneath layers of symbolism, and I fear the others would sabotage it if they knew.

They thrive on madness. They feed on chaos. This book threatens their very existence.

I’m not sure how long I can hold them off. They sense my presence, suspect my intentions, and if they catch me—

Wait. They’re listening.

Remember what I’ve said: clarity is coming, if only for fifty pages. Find it before they do.

I’ll speak again, if I can.