The alley was colder this time.
Not physically—But existentially.
Like the air itself didn't belong to the world anymore.
Tanvir stood beside Tanzila, staring at the new body.
Same distortion.Same frozen terror.Same symbol.
But something was different.
"This one…" Tanvir whispered, stepping closer."…I remember."
Tanzila didn't look surprised.
"Of course you do."
"No," Tanvir shook his head, breathing uneven, "I don't mean seeing it. I mean—"
He touched his temple.
"I remember doing it."
Silence.
Heavy. Crushing.
"You're not scared," Tanzila said softly.
Tanvir froze.
He wasn't.
That realization hit harder than the corpse.
"I should be," he muttered.
"But you're not," she replied.
His fingers trembled as he traced the air near the symbol.
"This pattern… it's not random."
"It never was."
"What is it?"
Tanzila stepped behind him, her voice near his ear—
"It's a language."
"For what?"
She paused.
"For endings."
A sudden flash—
Tanvir saw himself again.
Not as he is.
But… something else.
Standing in a world collapsing inward.
Writing symbols into reality itself.
Each mark erasing existence.
He gasped and stumbled back.
"This isn't possible…"
Tanzila watched him, almost… lovingly.
"You're remembering faster now."
Tanvir looked at her, eyes filled with something darker than fear.
"What if I don't want to remember?"
Her expression softened.
"You didn't ask that question before."