Catherine woke to silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that pressed against her ears… heavy, suffocating, wrong.
For a moment, she didn't move. Her body lay still on the bed, her mind slowly crawling back to consciousness. The last thing she remembered—
The gate.
The screams.
Him.
Her heart slammed violently against her ribs.
Her eyes flew open.
"No…" she whispered, sitting up abruptly.
It wasn't real.
It couldn't be real.
It had to be grief. Hallucination. Trauma.
People didn't come back from the dead.
People didn't attend their own funeral.
Right?
A soft murmur drifted in from outside the room.
Voices.
Low. Urgent. Afraid.
Catherine's breath caught.
She slid off the bed, her legs weak beneath her, and slowly moved toward the door. Each step felt heavier than the last, like something unseen was pulling her back.
Don't go.
But she had to know.
Her hand trembled as she reached for the door handle.
She opened it.
The living room was full.
But it wasn't like before.
No one was sitting comfortably anymore.
No quiet conversations.
No soft mourning.
Instead—
Fear.
People were gathered in corners, whispering, watching… avoiding the center of the room like it was cursed.
And in the middle of it all—
Him.
Jack.
Alive.
Standing.
Breathing.
Catherine froze.
Her fingers tightened around the doorframe.
He looked exactly the same.
Not burned.
Not injured.
Not… dead.
His yellow suit stood out painfully against the dark room, like he didn't belong to this world anymore.
Their eyes met.
"Cathy…" he said softly.
Her chest tightened.
That voice.
That face.
That man.
Everything in her wanted to run to him.
And everything in her screamed to run away.
"Don't come closer!" someone shouted suddenly.
An older woman—Jack's aunt—clutched her chest, her eyes wide with terror.
"Stay where you are!"
Jack turned to her, confusion written all over his face.
"Aunt May… what are you talking about?" he asked. "It's me."
"No!" she cried, stepping back. "We buried you!"
A wave of murmurs rippled through the room.
"We saw your body…"
"The car was yours…"
"The watch… it was yours…"
Jack shook his head slowly, like he was trying to wake up from a nightmare.
"I don't understand," he said, his voice unsteady. "I was delayed. The meeting ran longer than expected. I just got back—"
"Liar!" someone snapped.
Jack flinched.
Catherine's heart twisted at the sight.
This wasn't how people should look at their loved ones.
This wasn't how a wife should feel.
Yet she couldn't move.
Couldn't speak.
Couldn't breathe properly.
Because she remembered.
The coffin.
The burial.
The final goodbye.
Her voice came out barely above a whisper.
"I saw you…"
The room fell silent.
Jack turned back to her, his expression softening.
"Cathy… please…"
"I saw your body," she said, louder this time, her voice shaking. "They showed me. I was there. I watched them bury you."
Each word felt like a knife cutting through her own chest.
Jack's face paled.
"That… that wasn't me," he said.
But even he didn't sound sure.
No one moved.
No one dared to step closer to him.
The distance between Jack and everyone else grew wider… invisible, but powerful.
Like he was something dangerous.
Something unnatural.
Catherine took a small step forward.
Gasps filled the room.
"Don't!" someone warned.
But she didn't stop.
Her entire body trembled as she moved closer to him, her eyes locked on his.
She needed to know.
Needed to be sure.
Jack's breath hitched as she approached.
"Cathy…" he whispered, hope flickering in his eyes.
She stopped just an arm's length away.
So close.
So familiar.
So terrifying.
Her hand slowly lifted.
The room held its breath.
If he was real—
She would feel it.
If he wasn't—
Her fingers hovered inches from his face.
Shaking.
Hesitating.
Then—
She touched him.
Warm.
Solid.
Real.
Catherine gasped, her hand jerking back like she had been burned.
The room erupted.
"It touched him!"
"Oh God—!"
"What is he?!"
Jack's face crumpled in pain.
"I'm right here!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "I'm not a ghost! I'm not dead!"
But no one believed him.
No one moved toward him.
No one reached back.
Except—
Catherine.
Her breathing was uneven, her mind spinning wildly.
He felt real.
Too real.
But that only made it worse.
Because if he was real…
Then who did she bury?
From the corner of the room, a man watched quietly.
Dressed in black.
Silent.
Observing everything.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Jack.
Not fear.
Not shock.
Something else.
Something colder.
Something calculating.
He slipped his phone from his pocket and sent a message:
"He's back."
A pause.
Then another message followed:
"We have a problem."
Catherine didn't see him.
Her entire world was focused on the man standing in front of her.
Alive.
Impossible.
Terrifying.
And yet…
A tear slid down her cheek.
"Jack…" she whispered.
But this time—
She wasn't sure who she was calling.