The dawn never came.
Yan Zhi awoke to silence—a silence too perfect, too heavy, as if an invisible weight smothered the world. The faint light that should have seeped through the paper windows was gone. Instead, a dull, ashen haze clung to the air, making every breath taste stale.
He rose from the bed, eyes scanning the room. The oil lamp had long burned out, yet the darkness wasn't complete. A faint glow traced the edges of the doorframe, as though the world beyond had been reduced to a pale, lifeless dream.
Last night's memory returned—
The knocking.
The voice.
The eyes.
His arm throbbed.
The same alien pulse still lingered beneath his skin, buried deep like something sleeping in his marrow.
Yan Zhi flexed his fingers, forcing himself to remain calm. His training had taught him to measure every breath, to keep the mind sharper than the blade. But what could one do when the threat was inside?
A faint creak echoed from the hallway.
He approached the door, ear pressed to the wood. No footsteps, no rustle of clothing—only that crushing stillness.
His hand reached for the latch.
Stopped.
Something moved in the gap beneath the door.
Not a shadow.
Darker than shadow—thick, almost liquid, flowing silently across the floor. It slid forward, stopping just before it touched his toes, as if… waiting.
Then, from beyond the door, came a whisper.
"Why… did you look at her?"
The voice was soft, without gender, far too close—closer than any human could be without pressing their lips to the wood.
Yan Zhi's breath slowed.
He knew better than to answer questions that came from the dark. Words could bind faster than chains.
He stepped back—only to realize his shadow hadn't moved with him.
It stood at the threshold, facing the door.
The pulse in his arm grew stronger, syncing with something unseen beyond the wood. Thud… thud… thud… Each beat heavier, as if the door itself was breathing with him.
A sudden knock. One.
Then two.
Then three.
Instinct screamed for him to run, but his body refused. Something in that rhythm rooted him in place.
And then… the door began to open.
Not quickly. Not suddenly.
But inch by inch, the gap widened.
From the slit of darkness, two pale fingers curled around the frame—thin, skeletal, nails dragging along the wood like knives.
Yan Zhi's hand shot to his weapon, but before the blade could clear its sheath, a single black eye appeared in the gap.
Not the same eyes from last night.
This one… was smiling.
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