The rest of the morning blurred into repetition. Stock the shelves. Scan the items. Bag them. Nod at the customer. Repeat.
"Seventy-two fifty," Kai said without inflection, sliding groceries across the scanner.
The woman before him, dressed in a polished coat with a pearl pin at her collar, frowned. "Do you have a bag without holes? Last time, my eggs cracked."
Kai checked the stack of plastic bags, fingers moving automatically. "This one should be fine."
"It better be," she said, watching him as though daring him to fail again. She didn't thank him. She never did.
When she left, his manager appeared at his side, arms folded.
"You could try smiling, you know," the man said.
Kai looked at him flatly. "Why?"
"Customers like it. Happy faces mean happy wallets."
Kai didn't answer. The manager sighed, shaking his head. "No wonder you're stuck here. You've got no spirit, Voss. None. If you had half a brain, you'd use that family name of yours. Pull some strings."
Kai stiffened. "That name doesn't mean anything anymore."
The manager smirked. "Yeah. Guess not."
The man wandered off, leaving Kai to swallow the bitterness rising in his throat. Everyone knew his name, or thought they did. To them, he was a fallen heir, a reminder that fortune could rot just like fruit left too long in the sun.
By noon, the store filled with the noise of lunch-hour customers. A coworker, a boy no older than nineteen with a mop of curly hair, leaned against the counter beside him between waves.
"Hey, Kai," the boy said. "You hear about the new place opening down the street? Some burger joint. Heard they're paying almost double what we get here."
Kai gave him a sidelong glance. "Then why are you still here?"
The boy shrugged, grinning. "Too lazy to quit. Besides, old man Li would have a heart attack if we both left. You know how he is."
Kai said nothing.
The boy tilted his head, studying him. "You ever think about leaving? I mean… this job, this place. You don't look like you belong here."
Kai's lips twitched into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Looks can be deceiving."
Before the boy could respond, another customer approached, and Kai turned back to the register.
By the time his shift ended, the sky outside had turned to a dull, bruised gray. The rain threatened again. Kai pulled his coat tighter and began the long walk home. The streets glistened with the reflection of neon signs and headlights. Crowds moved around him, streams of faces locked on their own destinations.
No one looked at him.
He was used to that.
Halfway home, he cut through an alley he often used to shave time off his walk. It was narrow, lined with dumpsters and cracked bricks. Puddles mirrored the sky in broken fragments.
It was there that he felt it.
The stillness. The air thickened, heavy like it had in the kitchen and the back room of the store. His steps slowed, his breath shallow.
At the far end of the alley, something shifted. A figure.
Not just shadow, not quite human. Tall. Thin. Its limbs were too long, bending at angles that made no sense. The head cocked sideways, as though studying him with invisible eyes.
Kai froze. His mouth went dry.
The figure didn't move closer, but the air between them vibrated, as if the world itself was humming.
And then—
"Hey!"
Kai spun. The boy from the store stood at the alley entrance, hands in his pockets.
"You walk this way too?" the boy asked casually.
When Kai looked back, the figure was gone. The alley was empty, only rain and shadows.
Kai forced his voice steady. "Yeah. Sometimes."
The boy squinted at him. "You okay? You look pale."
"I'm fine."
"You sure? You look like you saw a ghost."
Kai let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Maybe I did."
The boy laughed, shaking his head. "Creepy-ass alley, I'll give you that. Anyway, see you tomorrow, man."
He walked off, leaving Kai alone again.
Kai stared at the far end of the alley for a long moment before continuing home. His pulse was still racing, but beneath the fear was something else.
A certainty.
Whatever he had seen—whatever had been watching—wasn't a trick of exhaustion.
It was real.
The house greeted him with silence when he returned. The lock stuck, as it always did, before giving way with a reluctant click. He stepped inside, shutting the door against the damp air.
The hallway was darker than usual, the weak bulb overhead flickering with the rhythm of a dying heartbeat. He shrugged off his coat and hung it on the crooked nail by the door, water dripping onto the floorboards.
The kitchen was no warmer than the street. He opened the cupboard and stared at its meager offerings: rice in a half-torn bag, a dented can of sardines, a few shriveled onions. He sighed and set to work.
The stove hissed reluctantly when he lit the flame. He boiled rice, fried the sardines, sliced the onion thin and tossed it in the pan. The smell filled the kitchen, sharp and oily. It wasn't much, but it was food.
He sat at the table with his plate, eating slowly, as though dragging the meal out would make it feel like more. Each bite tasted of salt and metal. He washed it down with water that carried a faint tang of rust.
The chair creaked beneath him. His gaze drifted to the far corner of the room, where shadows pooled thicker than they should have. For a moment, he thought he saw the outline of a figure there—tall, still, patient.
He blinked, and it was gone.
Kai set his fork down, rubbing at his eyes. "You're losing it," he muttered.
After the dishes were done, he wandered the house. He always did before bed, as though checking the rooms might keep the place from collapsing overnight. The living room sagged under the weight of old furniture, his grandparents' relics covered in sheets. The hallway smelled of damp wallpaper. The bathroom mirror had grown cloudy, reflecting a ghost of his face.
Finally, he returned to his bedroom. The clock on the nightstand read 11:17 p.m. He stripped down to his undershirt and lay beneath the thin blanket, listening to the rain's return.
Sleep came fitfully.
The nightmare began as it always did—with the crash of metal, the scream of tires, his mother's hand reaching, never touching. But tonight, something was different.
He stood outside the car this time, watching it all unfold from the roadside. His parents' faces pressed against the shattered glass, blood blooming like roses. He wanted to run to them, to pull them free, but his legs wouldn't move.
A voice whispered behind him.
"Kai."
He turned.
The shadow from the alley was there, tall and crooked, its head bent at an impossible angle. Its limbs scraped the asphalt, too long, too sharp. Its presence was suffocating, and yet… familiar.
"What are you?" Kai demanded, though his voice was a whisper swallowed by the night.
The figure did not answer. Instead, it raised one hand—if it could be called a hand—and pointed toward the car.
Kai followed its gesture. The wreckage dissolved into something else. Not twisted steel, not broken glass. A room. His grandparents' house.
The walls cracked wider, bleeding darkness. Water dripped from the ceiling, but it wasn't water anymore—it was thick, black, and alive, writhing as it fell. The floor buckled, and through the gaps he saw nothingness yawning, endless and hungry.
The shadow stepped closer. Its voice crawled into his mind, though its mouth never moved.
"You asked for answers."
Kai's chest tightened. His breath came in sharp gasps. "What answers?"
The shadow tilted its head further, joints creaking like breaking wood.
"Life. Death. God."
Kai stumbled backward, but the room shifted with him, walls bending, ceiling collapsing. The darkness rose, reaching for his legs, his arms, his throat.
He screamed.
And woke.
The clock read 3:04 a.m. His body was drenched in sweat, the blanket tangled around his legs. The bucket in the corner dripped steadily, the sound sharp against the silence.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
Kai sat up, clutching his chest, heart pounding. The dream's weight lingered, heavier than any before. It hadn't felt like a dream. It had felt like… a summons.
He stared at the corner of the room.
The shadows there seemed thicker. Watching. Waiting.
The morning came heavy.
Kai barely remembered sleeping after the nightmare. His body had thrashed until exhaustion finally drowned him, and even then, rest had been shallow, broken. When the alarmless clock dragged him from half-dream at 6:39 a.m., his chest still carried the weight of shadows.
He washed his face in the cracked bathroom sink, staring at his reflection in the cloudy mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed in red. The water ran cold, biting against his skin. He welcomed the sting. At least it reminded him he was awake.
By the time he reached the store, the city had settled into its morning rhythm. Traffic snarled at intersections, horns blaring. Office workers rushed with coffees in hand, their faces pale in the gray light. Kai walked among them, unnoticed, like a ghost still tethered to earth.
Inside, the fluorescent lights hummed their usual greeting. His manager glanced at him once, frowning.
"You look like hell," the man said.
"Didn't sleep," Kai replied flatly.
The manager snorted. "What else is new? Stock the freezer."
Kai obeyed. The boxes were heavier today, though maybe that was only his fatigue pressing on him. As he worked, customers trickled in: an old woman buying bread, a young man scanning instant noodles, two students arguing over snacks. Their voices blurred, meaningless chatter filling the air.
Until one didn't.
"Excuse me," a voice said.
Kai turned. The man was perhaps a few years older than him, maybe thirty. He wore a plain black coat, buttoned to the collar, though the day wasn't cold enough for it. His hair was neatly combed, his face sharp, his eyes—too sharp. They seemed to take in Kai with unsettling precision, as though measuring him.
"Do you have black tea?" the man asked.
"Third aisle, right side," Kai said automatically.
The man didn't move. He tilted his head slightly, studying Kai. "You don't sleep well."
Kai stiffened. "What?"
"Your eyes," the man said smoothly. "Bloodshot. Shadows under them. Nightmares, maybe."
Kai forced a scoff. "You a doctor?"
The man's lips curved faintly. Not a smile, not exactly. "Something like that."
He moved past Kai, footsteps measured, disappearing into the aisle.
Kai stared after him, unsettled. Customers didn't talk like that. They asked about prices, complained about bags, muttered thanks or nothing at all. They didn't notice him. Not like that.
The man returned a moment later with a box of tea, setting it on the counter.
"That will be one eighty," Kai said, scanning it.
The man placed a coin on the counter—an old one, tarnished silver, heavier than it looked. Kai frowned. "We don't take this."
"Keep it," the man said softly. "For later."
Before Kai could respond, he picked up the tea and left.
The door chimed. The man was gone.
Kai stared at the coin on the counter. It wasn't currency he recognized. The markings were strange, the symbols curling into shapes that seemed almost to move if he looked too long.
"Voss!" his manager barked from the back. "Quit daydreaming and clean the counter!"
Kai pocketed the coin.
The rest of the shift passed in a blur, but his thoughts clung to the man in black. His words. His stare. The coin that felt like it didn't belong to this world.
When his break came, Kai stepped outside, leaning against the wall by the dumpsters. The city bustled, people rushing past, each trapped in their own routine. He pulled the coin from his pocket, holding it in his palm.
The markings caught the weak sunlight. For a heartbeat, they glowed.
"Kai," a voice whispered.
He froze. The sound hadn't come from the street. It had come from the coin.
He dropped it. It hit the pavement with a weighty clink.
"Trouble holding on to things?"
Kai spun. The boy from yesterday—his coworker—stood there, holding a sandwich, chewing. His eyebrows rose. "What's that?"
"Nothing," Kai muttered quickly, scooping the coin back into his pocket.
The boy grinned. "Secret treasure? Man, you're full of surprises."
Kai forced a weak laugh. "Something like that."
The boy didn't press, but his gaze lingered a second too long before he returned to eating.
Kai looked back at the street. The city flowed around him, uncaring. But he could feel it—beneath the noise, beneath the rain and neon, something had turned its gaze on him.
And it was only a matter of time before it stepped closer.