Ethan didn't move for a long time after Egor disappeared.
The construction site had returned to normal, at least on the surface. The distorted space was gone, the hands had vanished, and the air no longer felt like it was tearing apart. But something lingered. Not outside—inside him. A residue. A pressure he couldn't shake off.
He exhaled slowly and ran a hand through his hair, trying to ground himself. "That wasn't normal," he muttered.
"No," Aval replied calmly. "It was progression."
Ethan's jaw tightened. "You call that progression? That looked like collapse."
"It is both."
That answer didn't help. It made things worse.
Ethan stepped out of the construction site, the city noise gradually returning as he moved further away. Cars passed, distant conversations blended into a familiar hum, and for a brief moment, it almost felt like everything was fine again. But the illusion didn't hold. Not anymore.
"…Those things," Ethan said quietly, glancing at his arm. "The hands. What were they?"
A pause followed, longer than usual.
"Accumulation."
Ethan frowned. "Of what?"
"Calls."
The word settled heavily.
Ethan stopped walking. "You're saying… every call I answer…"
"You take it," Aval said.
Ethan's chest tightened. "And if I don't?"
"Someone else does."
Silence stretched between them.
Ethan looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers slowly. The memory of grabbing that thing in the alley, the icicles shattering, the sensation of something breaking at a level he couldn't fully understand—it all came rushing back.
"…And Egor?" he asked.
Aval didn't hesitate this time. "He did not stop."
Ethan exhaled sharply. "So he just kept taking them? Every call, every time?"
"Yes."
"And now he's…" Ethan trailed off, searching for the right word.
"Overflowing."
That was worse than anything Ethan expected.
He resumed walking, slower now, his thoughts catching up with him. "Then what's the limit?" he asked. "How many before I end up like that?"
There was no immediate answer.
Ethan stopped again. "…Aval."
A pause.
Then—
"There is no fixed number."
Ethan let out a dry laugh. "Of course there isn't."
"It depends on you."
"That's even worse."
By the time Ethan reached his apartment, the weight of the conversation had settled deep into his chest. He closed the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, staring at nothing.
Egor's words echoed in his head.
Wait until it starts eating you.
Ethan clenched his fist.
"…I'm not ending up like that."
No response came this time.
He moved toward the sink, splashing cold water on his face. The reflection staring back at him looked the same as before—but it didn't feel the same. His eyes were sharper. His movements more precise. There was something beneath the surface now, something that hadn't been there before.
He lifted his arm.
The mark was brighter.
Not glowing.
Not burning.
Just… clearer.
Like it had settled deeper into him.
"…Three," he muttered, recalling Aval's earlier correction.
The alley. The rooftop. The icicles.
Three.
It didn't feel like just a number.
It felt like a direction.
His phone buzzed again.
Ethan froze.
For a second, he considered ignoring it.
Then he picked it up.
Unknown number.
Of course.
He answered.
"…Yeah."
There was no breathing this time. No weak voice.
Just silence.
Then—
"…you saw him, didn't you?"
Ethan's grip tightened.
"…Who is this?"
A pause.
"…You're late."
The line cut.
Ethan stared at the screen.
"That wasn't a call," he said.
"No," Aval replied. "It was awareness."
Ethan's eyes narrowed. "Of me?"
"Yes."
That wasn't good.
The air in the room shifted.
Subtle.
But real.
Ethan felt it immediately.
The same distortion.
The same pressure.
Not as strong as before.
But familiar.
"…No," Ethan muttered.
He turned toward the window.
The city outside looked normal.
But something moved between the lights.
Not visible.
Not fully.
But there.
"You're being noticed," Aval said.
Ethan's jaw tightened. "By what?"
A pause.
Then
"Others."
The word settled heavily.
Not just Egor.
Not just one.
More.
Ethan stepped closer to the window, his gaze scanning the streets below.
"…So what," he said quietly. "I just wait for them to show up?"
"No."
Ethan frowned slightly. "Then what?"
A longer pause followed.
Then—
"You decide."
That answer annoyed him more than anything else.
"Decide what?"
"How fast you burn."
Silence filled the room.
Ethan looked down at his arm again.
The mark pulsed faintly.
Once.
Then again.
Egor's voice echoed in his head.
Living fast. Dying young.
Ethan exhaled slowly.
"…Then I set the pace."
No response came.
But for the first time
It didn't feel like silence.
It felt like agreement.
Ethan stepped away from the window and grabbed his jacket.
If this was a system
If this was a game
Then he wasn't going to play it blind.
"…Next time," he said quietly, "I'm not just answering."
He opened the door.
"I'm choosing."
And somewhere in the city
Something shifted.
Not reacting.
Preparing.