Ethan stayed in the alley far longer than he should have.
Time behaved strangely there.
Out on the main street, the city moved according to its usual rhythm—traffic lights cycling, pedestrians rushing to work, the distant wail of a siren that never quite arrived. Inside the alley, everything felt muted, as if reality itself had been wrapped in thick insulation.
Marcus Hale's body lay exactly where Ethan had left it.
Unchanging.
Untouched.
The blood beneath the corpse hadn't spread any further. It hadn't dried either. It sat there in a dark, glossy pool, frozen at the exact moment of death.
Ethan stared at it, unease tightening his chest.
"So this is the boundary," he murmured. "Public sight versus private sight."
[Correct.]
The system's response came instantly, as if it had been waiting.
Ethan flinched despite himself. "You're getting faster."
[Observer familiarity increasing.]
He exhaled slowly and crouched beside the body again, forcing himself to think like a professional instead of a frightened civilian.
If this is real, he thought, then it has rules.
And rules could be tested.
Ethan stepped back toward the mouth of the alley.
The moment he crossed the invisible line, the pressure behind his eyes eased. The noise of the street rushed back in—too loud, too sharp.
He turned around.
The body was gone.
Not hidden.
Gone.
No blood. No corpse. No sign that a man had ever died there.
Ethan walked back into the alley.
The body reappeared.
Perfectly intact.
He did it again.
Street—gone.
Alley—back.
Ethan swallowed hard.
"So it's not erasing reality," he said. "It's switching layers."
[Simplified interpretation accepted.]
He rubbed his palms together, grounding himself. "And the switch is observation."
[Primary trigger: Sustained perception.]
"Meaning if I stop looking long enough—"
[Entity loses persistence.]
Ethan's jaw tightened.
Marcus hadn't just been killed.
He'd been deprived of witnesses.
Ethan returned to the body and knelt, forcing himself to examine it carefully despite the knot forming in his stomach.
The wound on Marcus's neck was clean and deliberate. No hesitation marks. No sign of struggle.
"This wasn't random," Ethan said quietly.
[Correct.]
"Then it was targeted."
The system didn't respond.
That, somehow, confirmed it.
Ethan resumed his search, this time methodical.
He cataloged everything: the cheap shoes, worn unevenly at the heel. The jacket sleeves frayed at the cuffs. The faint smell of diner grease clinging to the fabric.
Marcus hadn't been wealthy. Or powerful.
Which meant—
"He was expendable," Ethan muttered.
His fingers brushed against the coin again.
The moment he touched it, the air shifted.
The alley deepened.
Layers peeled back like transparent film, revealing faint outlines overlapping the walls—half-formed silhouettes clinging to shadow, motionless yet intensely aware.
Ethan froze.
His heart slammed against his ribs, but he forced himself not to pull away.
[Warning: Elevated perception load.]
"Show me," Ethan whispered.
The silhouettes sharpened.
They weren't human.
They weren't fully anything.
Just suggestions of form—elongated limbs, fractured geometry, angles that made his eyes ache if he tried to focus too hard.
They were watching him.
And worse—
They knew he could see them.
Ethan's vision blurred. Pain bloomed behind his eyes, sharp and insistent.
[Warning: Mental strain increasing.]
"Enough," he hissed.
He yanked his hand back.
The layers snapped shut.
The alley returned to normal.
Ethan staggered, bracing himself against the wall, breathing hard.
"So that's the price," he muttered. "The more I see, the more they see me."
[Reciprocal observation confirmed.]
Ethan laughed weakly. "Great. Mutual surveillance with monsters."
He pocketed the coin carefully this time, like it might bite him if mishandled.
One last test.
He stepped out of the alley and forced himself not to look back.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Twenty.
When he finally turned—
Nothing.
No body.
No blood.
No alley anomaly.
Just an empty passageway that had never mattered.
Ethan felt something settle in his chest.
A grim certainty.
"If I look away," he said quietly, "the world forgets."
[Correct.]
"And if no one ever looks again…"
[Subject becomes null.]
Ethan closed his eyes.
Marcus Hale was gone.
Not dead.
Erased.