Ethan Miles sits hunched over his cluttered desk, the only light a faint yellow glow from an old desk lamp. The city’s neon haze leaks through rain-streaked glass, painting the walls with ghostly streaks of blue and orange. As thunder rumbles in the distance, he absentmindedly doodles in his notebook, trying to silence the insomnia gnawing at the edges of his mind.

A sticky note, bright yellow against the monochrome mess, catches Ethan’s eye. It sits atop his keyboard, the ink unmistakably his own, though he has no memory of writing it. In shaky script, it reads: “Don’t take the subway—wait until noon. Trust me.” The date at the corner is tomorrow.

Ethan splashes water on his face, staring at his reflection. Another note is stuck to the mirror now, the edges curling. "If you see the man in the blue coat, turn back. He knows." The words send a chill through Ethan, his pulse quickening as he scans his memories, desperate for logic.

Clutching his bag, Ethan hesitates at the platform’s edge. He checks his watch—ten minutes until the train, just as the note warned against. A man in a blue coat emerges from the crowd, his gaze lingering for a heartbeat too long. Ethan backs away, heart thundering, the words from the mirror burning in his mind.

Ethan returns home, shaken. On his desk, a stack of new notes waits, each one more frantic than the last. "There will be a fire escape. Use it. Don’t answer the door tonight." His own handwriting becomes a lifeline and a prison, each message a thread unraveling the seams of reality.

Ethan sits before the window, pen in hand and a blank yellow note before him. The city hums with distant sirens and the promise of tomorrow. He hesitates, then begins to write, not knowing whether he is the warning or the warned, each word a plea to a version of himself he may never truly meet.