The grand mahogany doors of the ancestral manor groaned on their rusted hinges, a sound that sent a cold shiver down Suba's spine. Darkness swallowed everything inside, save for the thin, trembling beam of her flashlight. The air was thick with the smell of decay, old paper, and a faint, metallic scent that made her stomach churn—the scent of dried blood. Every step she took on the creaking wooden floorboards felt like a countdown to an inevitable explosion.
"Who are you? Why have you been hunting me like a shadow?" Suba's voice rang out, echoing through the hollow halls. Her voice shook, but her grip on the flashlight remained firm. She was tired of running. She was tired of being the prey.
There was no verbal response, only the rhythmic, heavy breathing of someone—or something—waiting in the corners. Her light caught a wooden desk in the center of the room. On it lay a leather-bound diary, its edges frayed and stained. As she approached, a sudden gust of wind flipped the pages. She looked down and felt her heart stop. There, on the first page, was a photograph of her as a two-year-old child. Next to her face was a dark fingerprint, pressed in crimson ink.
The Hook: How did this diary, containing her deepest childhood secrets, end up in the hands of a ghost? And whose blood was used to mark her face?
Suddenly, a figure emerged from the veil of darkness. Dressed in a long black coat with a brimmed hat casting a deep shadow over his face, he moved with the grace of a predator. "Your past is a buried secret, Suba," the figure whispered. The voice was chillingly familiar—it was a voice that had guided her, comforted her, and taught her everything she knew.
Suba swung her flashlight upward, aiming directly at the stranger's face. The figure raised a hand to shield his eyes. "Reveal yourself!" she commanded, her blood boiling with a mix of fear and fury.
The man slowly removed his hat. When the light finally hit his face, Suba's flashlight slipped from her numb fingers and shattered on the floor. Her breath hitched in her throat. Standing before her wasn't a monster or a stranger. It was her Mentor—the man she had called 'Father' in her heart, the one who had sworn to protect her from the world.