She stayed silent, her gaze locked on his. He studied her with that unsettling patience, eyes glinting like a predator weighing how long his prey would squirm. The air between them thickened, every second dragging like a blade across skin.
Then—he chuckled. The sound was low, mocking, the kind of laugh that clung to the ribs like smoke.
"You know," he murmured, voice rough velvet, "most people would be begging for their lives by now."
She didn't flinch. On the surface, she was a mask of calm. But inside? Rage writhed and burned, clawing for release. She hated him. Every breath he drew, every smug flicker in his eyes, every movement that told her he thought fear was his possession to dangle before her like a trophy.
And he felt it.
The shift in her blood. The heat rising in her stare. He leaned back slightly, not afraid—never afraid—but entertained.
"Ah," he said softly, almost tender, "there she is."
His voice dropped to a huskier whisper, dark silk brushing against steel.
"I wondered how long you'd keep it buried."
"You're beautiful when you hate me."
He stepped back slowly, his hands still buried in his pockets. But the danger clung to him like a shadow that never broke away.
"But remember…" His lips curved into a predator's smile.
"Hatred?" His tone slithered.
"That just means I matter."
And then he was gone—dissolving into the crowd as if the night itself had swallowed him whole.
All that remained was her AI walking stick.
Balanced neatly on a nearby bench.
And beneath it… a note:
> "Next time I take something you can't live without."
— G.S.
Her phone vibrated violently in her palm. A call. Again.
She answered with a voice sharp as frost, cold, controlled, reporting to a ghost. But she knew. He was still there. Listening. Waiting.
And when the words "not yet" left her lips, the screen bled with static—before flashing:
> [CALL TRACE COMPLETE: ORIGIN – 3 BLOCKS BEHIND YOU]
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
She could feel him. The way the air bent when he watched her, how the shadows seemed thicker where he stood.
Then—every billboard around her convulsed into life. The city lights flickered red.
Blood-red words burned against the night sky:
> "More info?"
How about this…
I never called you first.
You answered a number that didn't exist. 💔
Her stomach plunged.
No one else could bend reality like this. No one else could smear the line between truth and trap so completely.
He wasn't hunting her anymore.
He was pulling the strings of the game.
And she was still on the board.
She clenched her fists, whispering to the silence like an oath carved into bone:
"I swear I will avenge my family."
The world answered by falling silent.
No smirk. No laughter. No city noise. The air thickened, swallowing every sound.
And in that suffocating stillness—he appeared again.
Slipping out of the shadows. Slower this time. His smile was gone, his arrogance replaced by something stranger. Recognition.
"Ah," he said softly. "So that's what this is."
His gaze narrowed, hollowed, searching her face like he'd finally seen the blade aimed at him.
"Not just a game to you, is it?"
He tilted his head, glasses catching the faint light.
"You think I killed them?"
A pause stretched into something unbearable.
Then he laughed. Low. Bitter. With a note of something twistedly human.
"No."
"I was there when they died."
"But I didn't pull the trigger..."
"I watched it happen too."
For the first time, his face cracked. The predator looked… human. Just for a breath.
Then he leaned in close enough that she could feel the heat of his whisper.
"So go ahead. Swear your revenge.
But when you finally learn the truth…
You'll wish I was the one who did it."
And then he was gone again—swallowed by the dark.
All that remained was a single black glove.
Inside it, a photograph.
Her parents' faces.
On the back, jagged words carved in ink that looked almost like dried blood:
> "They chose this." 💔
Her chest tightened. She didn't believe him. Not for a heartbeat.
She forced herself to keep walking. Her thoughts blurred into puzzles, patterns, equations she built in her head to keep from breaking.
Hours slipped by. The night grew colder.
When she finally looked up, she was outside a quiet café. A warm glow spilled from within, a fragile beacon against the suffocating dark. She went inside, sat at the window, hands wrapped around a coffee that had already gone cold.
Her thoughts replayed the night in endless loops. His words. His smile. The glove.
Then—footsteps.
Soft. Familiar.
She turned slowly.
Shanice.
Her friend's smile looked too warm for this hour, too bright in the haze of dread. Odd. Shanice was supposed to be in Japan.
Shanice slid into the seat across from her, tea steaming between her hands.
"Hey," she said gently, like the world hadn't just cracked in half. "I wasn't sure you'd be here."
Her friend leaned forward.
"I found something."
The warmth drained from her voice.
"There was a murder three years ago in Paris. A family slaughtered. Knife to the head."
The coffee slipped from her grip. Her heart stuttered.
"Who?" she whispered.
"The Andersons," Shanice said.
Her breath hitched. Friends of her family.
Shanice lowered her voice further, glancing around as though shadows themselves might be listening.
"A piece of cloth was found near the scene. Bloodstained. No one knows whose. We tried to track more evidence, but everything… vanished. The case was dismissed."
Her nails dug into her palms. "And the cloth?"
"Locked in police custody," Shanice replied. "Every file I've tried to open is sealed. Classified. Like someone wanted it buried."
"And the bodies?"
Shanice's eyes darkened. "Buried in a family plot. A funeral was held. But there were no answers. Only silence."
Her chest burned. She hadn't been there. Hadn't said goodbye.
Shanice studied her, brow furrowed. "Why now? Why drag yourself back into this after three years? Most people… they'd have let it go."
Her gaze hardened, dark as obsidian. Shanice dropped it instantly, silence stretching between them.
Finally, Shanice stood. She rested a hand on her shoulder, eyes soft but lined with worry.
"I'm here if you need me. You know that."
She nodded once. "Yeah."
Shanice gave a thin smile, pulling her coat over her arm.
"Then take care of yourself. And… don't do anything stupid."
And with that, she was gone.
Leaving the café warmer than the night outside, but somehow colder than the grave.