Maarg couldn't stand being cooped up in Jack's tiny room. The space was actually his brother Amar's, but ever since Amar went abroad for his research, their parents had rented it out. Maarg and Jack were good friends, so sharing a room felt no different from a sleepover, but the thought of Sammy sleeping comfortably in Maarg's bed—his bed—gnawed at him. He needed a break.
The night was cool, the stars barely visible through the smog that had started settling over the city. Maarg stood by the window of Jack's room, looking toward the abandoned house of the old neighborhood couple, the Whitakers. It was his secret hideout and a perfect safe haven since no one lived there and one of the windows had been slightly ajar for months. He had discovered it ages ago, a perfect escape to think, be alone, and get away from his everyday troubles.
Maybe I'll feel better if I go there for a while.
Without a second thought, Maarg climbed onto the windowsill and leapt across the narrow alley. It was a jump he had tried countless times—sometimes barely making it, other times scraping his knees on the ledge. But this time, he felt... different.
Stronger.
He landed smoothly, without any of the awkward flailing he was used to.
Weird.
Ignoring the strange ease with which he made the jump, Maarg slipped through the slightly ajar window. The familiar scent of dust and old wood greeted him, and he let out a sigh of relief.
But something was... off.
The room wasn't as he had left it. The makeshift pile of pillows and blankets he had set up in the corner was gone. The air was warmer and had a sweet floral smell, and the dim light from the streetlamp outside cast an unfamiliar glow on freshly folded clothes near the window.
Wait... clothes?
Before his mind could fully register the change, a sudden warm smack landed on the back of his head. It wasn't hard—just enough to snap him out of his thoughts.
"What the—" Maarg stumbled back, his hand flying to his head.
"Maarg?!"
His eyes widened as he looked up. Standing before him, her pale blonde hair damp and clinging to her face and a towel wrapped tightly around her slim frame, was Remmy.
"Remmy?!" Maarg's voice cracked as he blinked rapidly, trying to convince himself he wasn't hallucinating.
Remmy's expression shifted from shock to annoyance. "What the hell are you doing here?"
Maarg opened his mouth but nothing came out. His brain was still trying to process the situation. "I should be asking you that!" he finally managed to blurt out.
Remmy's eyes narrowed. "This is my grandparents' house. I've been staying here ever since... well, since this stupid virus started."
"Wait... your grandparents' house?" Maarg's mind raced. He had been sneaking into this place for months. "I thought it was abandoned!"
"Clearly not," Remmy muttered, adjusting the towel around herself, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she realized how exposed she was. "And what's your excuse for breaking in?"
"I didn't break in!" Maarg protested, rubbing the back of his head. "I... I just needed some space. I've been using this place as my hideout for a while."
"Your hideout?" Remmy raised an eyebrow. "You've been squatting in my grandparents' house?"
"Not squatting... more like... borrowing?" Maarg gave her an awkward grin, which quickly faded under her icy glare.
Before either of them could say anything else, a loud thud echoed from outside the window. Both of them froze.
"What was that?" Remmy whispered, her expression shifting from annoyance to concern.
Maarg's playful demeanor vanished as his senses sharpened. "Stay here," he murmured, moving toward the window.
"Like hell I'm staying here alone," Remmy hissed, following him.
Maarg glanced back at her, noticing the fear flickering in her eyes.
"Fine," he whispered. "But stay behind me."
As they crept toward the window, the eerie silence that followed sent a chill down Maarg's spine.
Something was out there. And whatever it was... it wasn't good.