"Such a pity… is it true you have to move?" Mr. Alan asked after Missy told him she would be leaving her apartment. He followed her all the way to her door.
"Yes, I have a new job, Sir. It comes with accommodation," Missy replied.
"Oh, my wife will surely miss you. You must have gone through quite a lot… such a pity… such a pity," he murmured.
"Well… that's just how it is," Missy said, forcing a small smile.
A chill crept up her spine as she watched him mutter to himself. There was something off about the way he looked at her—his gaze colder than usual. Missy swallowed.
She shook the feeling off, trying to stay calm. Perhaps what had happened a few days ago still lingered in her mind, leaving behind a quiet fear. It made her wary… of everything. Even a simple glance from someone felt unsettling now.
"I should… start packing," she said, unconsciously gripping the doorknob.
"Do you need help, dear?" Mr. Alan offered.
Cold sweat began to form on her skin. His voice—his face—everything about him suddenly felt wrong. She could smell his breath now—too close—and it made her stomach churn. Her words caught in her throat.
Then her eyes shifted… to his hand.
Reaching for her doorknob.
She froze.
"What… happened to your hand?" she whispered.
His hand stopped just short of the knob. For a brief moment, he went still—then slowly turned to her with a calm expression.
Too calm.
"Oh, this? I got it yesterday while fixing a pipe in Miss Ariana's room," he said, smiling.
The smile didn't reach his eyes.
Missy shuddered, looking up at him with widened eyes.
She hesitated, silent for a moment. Then innocently, she said...
"A… Ariana is away on a business trip with her boss for two weeks. And that… looks like claw marks."
A low sound escaped him.
"Hm."
His eyes narrowed. Something in his expression twitched, his lips curling ever so slightly.
"You don't understand, do you?" he said—his voice dropping into something darker.
Missy couldn't breathe.
His hand suddenly clamped down on her shoulder—hard.
And just as he pushed her door open, about to force her inside—
A hand seized his shoulder.
Hard.
"Let go."
The voice came low and cold from behind him—and in the next second, his body was yanked backward.
"Oh—!"
Air rushed back into Missy's lungs as if she had just been pulled from drowning.
"Raven…" she breathed, her vision blurring as warm tears slipped down her cheeks.
Raven didn't answer immediately.
His eyes swept over her—quick, sharp, searching. Checking. Making sure.
Then he turned.
And walked toward Mr. Alan.
Slowly.
Like a predator that had already decided its prey was doomed.
Mr. Alan staggered back until his body hit the wall. His face flushed red, his breathing uneven—almost choking—as he stared into Raven's eyes.
Black.
Completely black.
Deep. Endless.
Terrifying.
"G… go…" he rasped, his voice trembling.
Raven smiled.
Cold. Amused.
From his pocket, he pulled out a small hourglass, holding it up between them.
"Let's see… what your soul deserves," he murmured.
Then he flipped it.
The sand began to fall.
And so did Mr. Alan.
His eyes bulged. His hands clawed at his throat, trying to scream—but nothing came out. Only broken, strangled sounds.
"Agh… aaghh…!"
He gasped, choking on nothing.
Missy could only stare as his body crumpled, his hands clutching his chest as silent agony took over him.
Missy's fingers trembled at her sides. She should have looked away.
But she couldn't.
Raven crouched in front of him.
"Your rotten soul has been traded… for the most fitting reward," he said quietly. "Now, you'll live as the one who has suffered the most because of you."
Then he rose, calm as ever, watching the man writhe at his feet.
As if it meant nothing....
And everything at once.
At that exact moment—the elevator doors opened.
Dorothy stepped out.
She looked confused. Shocked. Still dressed in her nightgown, she moved unsteadily toward them.
Without a word, she knelt beside her husband.
Her trembling hands touched him who now seemed unable to speak as one side of his mouth was locked. Paralyzed.
Raven approached her.
"Looks like a stroke… or perhaps a mild heart attack," he said evenly. "And you… are now as healthy as he once was. Consider it a fair exchange."
Dorothy froze.
Then slowly… she looked up at him.
Tears streamed down her face.
"Oh… oh…"
And then—
She laughed.
Soft at first.
Then louder.
Still crying, yet laughing—like something heavy had finally been lifted from her chest.
Free.
Missy frowned, her chest tightening.
"What… is happening…?" she whispered.
Raven turned, gently taking her arm and leading her back into the apartment, shutting the door behind them.
Cutting off the scene.
"His soul and energy have been exchanged with his wife's," Raven explained. "She suffered her entire life because of him. Now… the roles are reversed."
Missy's voice trembled. "How…?"
"Hart," he said softly.
"That man… was a pervert. He cheated while his wife lay paralyzed. Worse—he was the one who caused it. And those jams…" His lips curved faintly. "A twisted method. A way to lure his targets."
Missy's face went pale.
"And the scratches…?" she whispered.
"From the crow he killed. The one sent to you."
Her breath hitched.
"Was he the one who tried to—"
"No." Raven cut her off.
"He was only paid."
Silence fell.
Missy pressed a hand to her forehead, her thoughts spinning. She exhaled repeatedly, shakily. After wiping her tears, she then moved—almost on instinct—toward her belongings, pulling out her suitcases and stuffing them with whatever she could.
"Actually, you don't really need all those clothes," Raven muttered.
"Then what am I supposed to wear? Should I just throw everything away?" she snapped, shoving clothes inside.
Her hands trembled.
Her chest rose and fell unevenly.
Everything—everything was too much.
Raven watched her for a moment… then exhaled softly.
He knew.
She was simply letting it out—everything she had been holding back.
Then, without a word, he stepped closer.
Not touching.
Just… there.
A quiet presence, steady and grounding—as if that alone was enough to calm her
"That blue one has a faint coffee stain. The black one's faded at the collar. And the white one…" he tilted his head slightly, "hmm... the lace is excessive. Tasteless."
Missy blinked.
She opened her mouth as if to say something but held it back. Seeing Raven's flat expression, which contrasted with his seemingly insulting words, made her want to respond. But weird, she couldn't hear any mocking tone from him.
Then—
She laughed.
Soft at first… then louder, until tears gathered again in her eyes.
Strangely… she felt lighter.
"Then what? Are you going to buy me new ones or what?" she asked, amused as she wiped the corner of her eyes.
Without hesitation, Raven took out a black card and placed it in her hand.
"Of course. Buy everything. Minimum three times your salary per piece," he said. "You represent me. Don't wear anything that lowers my value."
Missy stared at him.
Speechless.
"It's time to go," he added.
His voice… low, smooth—pulling her in before she could even think.
"W-what about my things?" she stammered as he led her out.
"Anything important will already be in your room. The rest isn't worth keeping," he said simply.
Typical Raven.
Her heart pounded.
Confusion. Awe. Admiration. Something deeper.
He didn't let go of her hand.
Not even when they stepped out of the elevator.
An ambulance was already there.
Dorothy stood nearby, hugging herself, watching silently.
Mr. Alan was being wheeled in—his face twisted, one side unmoving.
Broken.
Dorothy didn't look at him. She looked at Missy.
And for the first time…
She looked at peace.
Missy shivered when her gaze briefly met Alan's.
Raven stepped in front of her. Blocking her view.
"No need to look," he murmured.
Then, under his breath—
"Perhaps I should have burned him instead."
Yet when he opened the car door for her, his touch was gentle. His fingers briefly squeezed hers... firm, grounding—before letting go.
Missy realized then—
That was the first time she had truly seen what Raven was capable of.
And somehow…
It didn't terrify her as much as it should have.
It felt…
Right.
Raven moved around the car, his eyes never leaving her until he slid into the driver's seat beside her.
"Seatbelt, Hart," he said quietly.
His gaze softened.
As if he hadn't just delivered a soul's punishment.
***