The smoke rose, slow and thick, dissolving into the dark air of the room.
The city's light crossed the tall windows in distant golden tones, cutting the room into long shadows that remained unmoving.
Nothing there breathed.
Not the fabric of the curtains.
Not even the air itself.
Only the smoke, rising too slowly.
Her eyes remained on the city, even though she was no longer in it.
There was distance—not of space, but of return.
The pipe stayed firm between her fingers.
Unmoving.
The silence stretched.
Then—
"You took longer."
Her voice came low.
Without surprise.
A brief pause.
"And still you returned to the same point."
Her gaze moved to the door.
Éreon was already there.
Still.
As always.
She watched him without hurry.
Without relief.
"Tell me, Éreon…"
A short pause.
"how much longer do you intend to repeat this?"
The silence did not interrupt her.
She took a step forward.
"There was the orphanage.
"The mountains.
"And now, this place."
A pause.
"It always ends here."
Her eyes stayed on his.
"And you… never go beyond it."
The silence held.
But this time… it wasn't empty.
It was being watched.
The smoke did not rise.
It bent.
As if responding to something that hadn't been there before.
"You see.
"You repeat.
"You return."
Her eyes remained on him.
"But you never cross."
The name slipped out before she could contain it.
"…Nika."
A faint smile appeared.
Small.
Out of place.
"If it makes it easier…"
A pause.
"you can call me that."
The silence remained.
Éreon did not answer.
His eyes fixed on her.
No retreat.
No confirmation.
As if still searching… for something that wasn't there.
"All this time…"
Her voice came low.
Unchanged.
"I watched."
A pause.
"I thought that, with time…"
Her gaze stayed on him.
"you would grow tired of reliving this."
The air changed.
Not in sound.
In presence.
Something passed through him.
Cold.
Too light to be seen.
Too heavy to be ignored.
Even so…
he did not move.
His eyes did not leave her.
The figure held his gaze for another moment.
Then turned.
She walked back to the window.
Without hurry.
As before.
Sat on the ledge.
One leg drawn in.
The other hanging.
The same gesture.
The same point.
But…
it wasn't the same.
"But I did."
The silence did not return.
It gave way slowly, like something that could no longer sustain itself—and with it something answered.
Not in sound.
In presence.
As if absence itself had found space.
First came a whisper, dragging, too low to be located, as if it crossed the entire room before reaching him.
"…you came back…"
There was no direction.
It came from all sides.
And still, delayed.
Like an echo that should not exist.
The air changed before the body reacted. There was no wind, no visible displacement—only the certainty that something now occupied the same space as him.
Cold.
Not superficial.
A cold that passed through.
Something touched the back of his neck.
Not like a touch.
Like something that had always been there.
"At last you came back, Éreon."
The voice came whole.
Too close.
Wrong enough not to belong anywhere.
He pulled in air—but his chest did not respond. The breath failed midway, short, incomplete, as if something prevented it from becoming whole.
Another presence formed at his shoulder.
Fingers.
Firm.
They did not press—but they did not allow themselves to be ignored.
"You know… I thought it would take less time."
The voice held the same tone.
The same calm.
"I imagined that, after so many times… you wouldn't need to return to the same point to understand."
His jaw locked.
Even so, he did not move.
His eyes remained on her.
The figure at the window did not react to the voices.
Did not react to the hands.
Did not react to anything.
And still—
everything continued.
"Is this wrong…?"
Now beside his ear.
Too close.
The hand slid from his shoulder to his neck, slow, deliberate.
Others came.
He did not see them.
But he felt them.
Back.
Arm.
Face.
Many.
Too cold to ignore.
Too close to deny.
"Make any movement…"
The body answered—not with action, but with tension.
Every muscle held.
Every reaction contained.
"…and I'll take your right eye with me."
The pressure increased.
Not pain.
Confirmation.
He was surrounded.
A sound came from behind him.
A step.
Dry.
Then another.
Dragged enough to not be natural.
And then more.
Many.
It was no longer possible to tell how many.
Nor where they came from.
"Trust does not require time."
The voice changed.
Clearer.
Closer to her.
"It requires reading."
The silence fell again.
Heavy.
Dense.
Absolute.
The hands remained.
The steps ceased.
Nothing moved.
Except her.
Seated.
Watching.
As if waiting.
Then—
"Did you really believe… that you could remain on this side… without anything reaching you?"
A pause.
"Everything that demands to be seen… takes."
Her eyes remained on him.
"The mistake was never crossing."
Another pause.
Shorter.
"It was believing you could look… without being found."
She stood.
Without hurry.
The movement was simple.
Too natural.
She walked toward him.
Each step silent.
As if space accepted her presence.
She stopped in front of him.
Too close.
Her hands rose to his face.
Firm.
Controlled.
They lifted it slightly.
"You've gone too far to pretend you don't understand."
Her voice did not change.
"And too close… to go back."
A pause.
"That is not why you came."
The air gave way inside him abruptly, as if something had taken the space before he could even react.
His mouth opened without command, forced by a need that did not come from him—and then the shadows moved.
Not around.
Inward.
A dense flow crossed the space between them and invaded him without resistance, descending through his throat like something that should not exist, locking, occupying, nullifying any attempt to breathe.
His chest did not respond.
There was no air to respond.
It was drowning—
not in water,
but in presence.
His knees gave out.
His body fell without the strength to hold its own weight, while the world around him ceased to make sense—there was no more sound, nor space, nor direction.
Only that.
And her…
watching.
"I hope…"
Her voice came low.
Close.
"that you still remember what you accepted."
An instant.
"Because I don't forget."
The voices returned.
Not as a whisper.
As laughter.
Low.
Broken.
Spread around.
"And as for the girl…"
Her gaze drifted for a brief moment.
As if seeing beyond that place.
"she's already past the point where she should have stopped."
Her eyes returned.
"You know what that means."
The weight increased.
His vision failed.
First at the edges.
Then at the center.
His eyes began to close.
Slow.
Heavy.
"Ni…"
The voice did not finish. The sound died before it existed.
The air failed again.
And then it did not return.
His body still tried to answer—too late, too weak, like something that had already been left behind.
Something inside him gave way.
There was no resistance.
There was nothing left to hold.
Perception unraveled little by little…
Until nothing remained—only darkness.