The knife still lay on the tiles, its blade smeared dark. Kai hadn't moved since it fell from his hand. His body trembled so violently he thought his bones might shatter, breath tearing raggedly through his throat. His ears rang with the memory of the intruder's last words.
"Welcome… enlightened one."
They clung to him like a curse.
A knock at the door jolted him upright.
"Police!"
His heart stopped. His gaze shot to the hallway, where the door still stood ajar. Rain drifted inside, the wood swollen from the storm. A beam of light cut across the wet floor—flashlight. Shadows moved.
"Sir, we heard shouting! Open up!"
Kai's hands shot to the knife, but he froze halfway. No—if they saw it, if they smelled the blood— He scrambled, grabbing a rag from the counter, wrapping it around the blade in shaking fingers. He shoved it deep into a drawer, the metal clattering softly. He pressed the drawer shut with his hip, chest heaving.
Another knock. Harder this time. "Sir! Police!"
Kai stumbled down the hall, nearly slipping in the spilled water, his socks soaking cold. He pulled the door wider. Two officers stood beneath the porch light, rain plastering their caps to their heads. Flashlights glared into his eyes, blinding him.
"What's going on here?" one demanded. His face was sharp, older, with lines carved deep across his forehead. The other was younger, eyes darting across the house.
Kai swallowed hard, forcing his voice steady. "S-someone broke in."
The younger officer leaned forward. "Where? Did they hurt you?"
Kai shook his head quickly, his throat raw. "No. They—they ran. I think. They tried the door, I— I yelled, maybe that's what you heard." His voice cracked. He cursed himself for it.
The older officer narrowed his eyes. His flashlight swept across Kai, pausing at the ragged bruises already blooming on his throat. "You're hurt."
Kai's hand shot up to cover it. "It's nothing. I fell when I grabbed the door."
The light shifted, tracing the floor, the water, the trail of footprints that led into the house—and then stopped where they abruptly vanished.
The younger one frowned. "Strange. Didn't see anyone outside. Street's empty."
"They… they must've run." Kai's words tumbled out, too fast, too eager. He forced himself to breathe, tried to steady his tone. "Look, I don't have much here. Just an old house. Maybe they thought there was something worth stealing."
The older officer studied him for a long moment. Kai couldn't hold his gaze. His skin crawled, sweat trickling down his spine. The silence stretched until it felt unbearable.
Finally, the older man exhaled. "You should lock your doors. Keep the phone close. If it happens again, call immediately."
Kai nodded too quickly. "Yes. Of course."
The officers lingered a moment longer, their flashlights cutting one last sweep across the cracked walls, the dripping ceiling, the trembling man standing barefoot in the dark. Then they stepped back into the rain.
"Stay safe," the younger said softly.
Kai shut the door.
The sound of the latch sliding home echoed through the house like a gunshot. He pressed his forehead against the wood, chest heaving, legs weak. His vision swam with black spots. His throat burned where the intruder's hand had pressed.
Safe. He told himself the word again and again. Safe. They believed him.
But his hands still shook. The drawer still held the knife. The tiles still gleamed faintly with blood.
He staggered to the kitchen, falling into a chair. His head dropped into his hands.
And then—he heard them.
Voices.
Not outside. Inside. Whispering just beneath his skin. The same whispers that had urged him forward. Now louder, clearer.
"…blood binds… you cannot turn back…"
"…you asked for truth, you paid the price…"
"…first blood… first door…"
Kai pressed his palms to his ears. "Shut up. Shut up!" His voice cracked in the silence.
But the whispers didn't stop. They multiplied. And among them—another voice. Familiar.
"Kai."
His breath caught. He lifted his head.
Standing in the corner was his mother. Her dress soaked from rain, her hair clinging to her pale face. Her eyes were hollow, her lips trembling with grief.
"You let us die," she whispered.
Kai's chest seized. "No. No, I—"
His father appeared beside her, face ashen, body broken in the angles of memory. "You hesitated then, too."
Kai stumbled to his feet, backing into the table, his hands trembling violently. "You're not real. You're not real!"
But they stepped closer, their forms half-shadow, half-flesh. The whispers rose to a fever pitch.
"…kill… again… or be killed…"
Kai screamed, clutching his head, collapsing to the floor. Tears streamed down his face, his chest convulsing with sobs. The voices drilled deeper, relentless, inescapable.
And beneath them all, the coin burned.
It pulsed like a second heart, searing into his flesh, into his soul.
The hallucinations blurred, melting into the dripping walls, into the cracks, into the shadows. His parents' faces dissolved, leaving only darkness.
Kai lay curled on the cold tiles, shaking, gasping, whispering broken prayers to a God he wasn't sure was listening.
And in that moment, he realized—
Nothing about tonight had ended.
It had only begun.
Kai woke with a start.
His cheek stuck to the tiles, skin cold and damp, his body curled tight like a child's. For a long moment he didn't move, only blinked against the thin gray light bleeding through the curtains. Morning. Or what passed for morning in this forgotten house.
His throat ached when he swallowed. His limbs felt heavy, stiff, every joint screaming in protest. Slowly, painfully, he sat up.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
The whispers were gone. The shapes, the accusing voices of his parents—gone. Only the dripping of water from the ceiling into the half-spilled bucket broke the stillness.
Plink.
Plink.
Plink.
Kai exhaled shakily, dragging both hands over his face. His palms were rough, smeared with grime. For a wild, desperate instant he thought he might have dreamed it all—the man, the fight, the voices, the knife.
But then he saw it.
A dark smear across the tiles. Faint, dried. Not large, but unmistakable. Blood.
His stomach twisted. He forced his eyes away, rising unsteadily to his feet. His knees wobbled, barely holding him. He clutched the edge of the counter, knuckles white, breathing shallow. His gaze darted across the kitchen—the overturned bucket, the soaked towel near the drawer, the faint dent in the wood where he had slammed his shoulder.
It happened.
He staggered toward the drawer and pulled it open with trembling fingers. The knife lay inside, wrapped in the rag. He lifted it slowly. The cloth had dried stiff around the blade, brown with blood.
Kai dropped it back into the drawer as if burned. His hands shook so violently he couldn't close it again. He shoved it, wood grinding, until it slammed shut.
For a moment he leaned there, palms pressed flat against the counter, forehead nearly touching the surface. His breath fogged faintly on the cold laminate. He wanted to retch, but nothing came.
Had the police seen it? Had they noticed the blood? Had they left because they pitied him, or because they planned to return later? His mind spun, every thought clawing against the other.
He stumbled to the sink and twisted the tap. Rusty water sputtered, then ran clear. He cupped his hands beneath it, splashing his face, rubbing his throat where the bruises throbbed. Purple marks stared back at him from the cracked mirror above the basin. His reflection looked nothing like himself—eyes bloodshot, skin gray, lips trembling.
"You're losing it," he whispered to the mirror. "You're… you're losing your mind."
But the mirror didn't argue.
He slumped against the sink, sliding down until he sat on the floor again, knees drawn to his chest. The morning light grew stronger, washing the kitchen in pale gold. Dust floated through the air like tiny ghosts.
Kai's eyes closed, but the images came back immediately—the intruder's eyes gleaming like glass, the feel of flesh giving beneath the knife, the sound of blood dripping onto tiles. He pressed his palms hard against his temples, as if he could crush the memories out of existence.
But underneath the revulsion, another feeling lurked. One he couldn't name. Heat. Power. The moment of the kill replayed not only as horror, but as clarity. His mind had never felt sharper than in that second, his fear never so bright, his body never so alive.
He hated himself for noticing.
And then—the coin.
It lay on the floor near the corner, gleaming faintly in the morning light. Kai froze. He remembered clutching it in the heat of the fight, feeling it burn against his palm, hearing it whisper. He hadn't touched it since. Yet there it was, waiting.
He crawled toward it slowly, each movement weighted with dread. The coin looked ordinary—dull brass, scratched, its edges worn smooth. But when his fingers closed around it, the warmth surged instantly, pulsing once like a heartbeat.
"…awake…"
Kai dropped it with a cry. It clinked against the tiles, spinning in a slow circle before settling flat.
"No," he whispered, backing away. "No, not again."
But the whispers didn't return. The coin lay still, innocent.
Kai hugged his knees tighter, rocking faintly, his eyes never leaving it. The house was silent, but silence no longer meant peace. Every creak of wood, every drip of water, every gust of wind against the cracked window felt like a breath on his neck.
He couldn't stay here. He couldn't.
And yet, where else was there to go?
He pressed his face into his arms, shuddering. Exhaustion dragged at him, pulling him down. He fought it, terrified of what dreams might come, but his body betrayed him. His eyelids sank despite his resistance.
As sleep stole him once more, the coin glimmered faintly on the floor.
And in the fading edges of consciousness, a final whisper crawled into his mind.
"…you cannot unsee…"
The streets smelled of wet concrete and exhaust.
Kai walked slowly, hands buried deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched beneath the faded jacket he always wore. The morning rain had left everything slick, and the city reflected in fragments—broken neon signs in puddles, headlights streaking across the asphalt, strangers' umbrellas bobbing like dark flowers.
He had walked this route to work a hundred times before. But today, everything felt… wrong.
Every step was louder than it should have been. Every sound lingered too long. His senses were sharpened, stretched taut, as if the world had been peeled back a layer. The hiss of bus brakes, the scrape of a woman's heels against the pavement, the muttered curses of a man shaking out his umbrella—they all pressed into him with unbearable clarity.
And the people.
They noticed him.
Not directly. Not enough to stop. But their eyes lingered half a second too long. A man glanced at him, frowned, and looked away quickly. A woman clutched her purse tighter as he passed. Even the stray dog that often scrounged by the alley lifted its head, ears flattening, before skittering off.
Kai kept his head down, teeth gritted. He told himself he was imagining it. Just paranoia. Just leftover adrenaline. But in his chest, the coin pulsed faintly, warm against his skin. And every time it beat, he felt the stares grow sharper.
By the time he reached the small convenience store where he worked, his palms were slick with sweat.
The bell above the door chimed as he pushed it open. The familiar smell of stale coffee and cleaning solution hit him, grounding him for an instant. Rows of shelves stretched neatly, stacked with snacks, canned goods, and instant noodles. The humming of the old fridge in the corner filled the silence.
He almost relaxed. Almost.
"Voss."
The voice came from behind the counter. His manager, Mr. Keane, looked up from his ledger. A thin man with graying hair and watery eyes, Keane usually barked greetings or complaints the second Kai walked in. But now, his words faltered after just his name.
Kai glanced up. Their eyes met.
Something shifted in Keane's expression. A flicker of unease. His pen stilled in his hand.
"You're late," he said finally, but the words came softer than usual, almost cautious.
Kai muttered, "Sorry," and slipped behind the counter to clock in. He could feel Keane's eyes following him, lingering.
The shift was uneventful. It always was. Customers came and went—construction workers grabbing cigarettes, teenagers buying candy, a mother herding a child past the magazine rack. Nothing unusual. Nothing different.
Except they avoided him.
When Kai handed back change, customers' fingers flinched away from his touch. When he said "thank you," they nodded quickly, eyes sliding off him. Even the regulars—people who normally chatted idly about weather or traffic—were silent today.
Kai noticed.
And so did Keane.
At one point, when the store was empty, Keane cleared his throat. "You okay, Voss?"
Kai was stocking shelves, his hands moving mechanically. He glanced over his shoulder. "Why?"
"You just…" Keane hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "Something's off about you today. You look pale. Eyes… different. Like you didn't sleep."
Kai forced a laugh, though it came out flat. "Didn't. Too much rain kept me up."
Keane didn't look convinced. He tapped his pen against the counter, watching him. "Don't bring trouble in here. I don't need cops asking questions."
The words hit harder than they should have. Cops. Kai's throat tightened. He turned back to the shelves quickly, muttering, "Yeah. Sure."
But he couldn't shake the weight of Keane's gaze, or the way the air in the store seemed colder than usual.
As the day dragged, Kai found himself staring out the window more than working. Watching the people passing by. Each face blurred into the next, but every one of them seemed to glance his way. Judging. Measuring. Waiting.
The whispers from the night before were gone. But the silence that replaced them was worse.
By the time his shift ended, dusk had settled over the city. Neon signs flickered to life, painting the streets in fractured color. Kai stepped out, pulling his jacket tighter around him. His breath clouded faintly in the cooling air.
The walk home felt heavier than the one that morning.
Every corner seemed sharper. Every shadow stretched longer. He felt eyes on his back the entire way, though when he turned, no one was there. His hand drifted again and again to his pocket, to the coin. It was cold now. Silent.
And somehow, that silence was the loudest thing of all.
By the time he reached his cracked doorstep, Kai's chest ached from holding his breath. He unlocked the door, stepped into the empty house, and shut it quickly behind him.
But the silence followed him inside.
And he knew it would not leave.