The light from the car was the only thing that felt real. It burned through the mist, spilling across the slick road like a blade of white silk. When Ren lifted his head, the rain had stopped completely, though the air still tasted of thunder.
The black car idled in front of him... elegant, spotless, an animal made of shadow and chrome. The door opened with a soft sigh.
"Get in," the man said.
His voice was low, measured, not unkind... yet it carried that same strange gravity as before, as if the world bent slightly around it. Ren hesitated, one hand still trembling from the encounter moments ago. The city behind him felt hollow, uninhabited, as if the rain had washed away everyone but him. He stepped forward. The door shut with a whisper.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of cedar and something colder, like the memory of smoke. He pressed his palms together in his lap, trying to still them. Through the glass, neon lights passed like ghosts... pink, blue, white, dissolving into each other.
No one spoke. The man drove with both hands on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead. The world outside began to change. Buildings grew taller, then fewer, until the streets opened into wide, silent avenues lined with pale trees whose leaves barely stirred. Streetlights flickered as the car passed, as if bowing.
Ren's reflection wavered in the window. His face looked smaller than he remembered... bruises dark against skin too fair for the night. Beneath his damp hair, the birthmark at his nape glowed faintly in the dashboard light: a delicate swirl, half-formed, like a broken piece of calligraphy.
He caught himself whispering, Don't fall asleep.
But the rhythm of the road was hypnotic. The hum of the tires, the slow breathing of the engine... they lulled him into a space between waking and dreaming.
Where are we going?
He almost asked, but the question felt unnecessary. The man seemed to know exactly where Ren's silence belonged.
Time blurred. When the car finally stopped, Ren wasn't sure how long it had been... minutes, hours, another life.
The gates rose before him: wrought iron vines curling into impossible shapes, glistening under a single streetlamp. Beyond them stretched a driveway lined with tall, silver-trunked trees, leading up to a house... no, a mansion... built in clean lines of pale stone and dark glass. It was too still, too perfect, as though the night had been built around it.
The man stepped out first. The wind caught the hem of his coat, sending it rippling like a black flame. He came around to Ren's side and opened the door.
Ren stepped onto the gravel. His shoes sank slightly into the wet stones. The air smelled of rain and jasmine, faint but sharp enough to make him dizzy.
He followed the man toward the entrance. Each step sounded too loud. The mansion loomed larger the closer they came; light spilled through long vertical windows but never reached the ground. Somewhere inside, a clock ticked... steady, unseen.
When they reached the front, the man paused, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, silver key attached to a tag engraved with a single word: Ren.
He held it out.
"This is yours."
Ren blinked. "Mine?"
The man didn't answer. His gaze lingered on Ren's face, unreadable. The porch light caught in his eyes... they were the color of midnight water, beautiful and cold. For a heartbeat, Ren thought he saw something move behind them, like another reflection waiting underneath.
"Inside," the man said softly. "You'll find everything you need."
Ren looked down at the key in his palm. It felt warm. When he looked up again, ready to ask something... anything... the man was gone.
No footsteps. No closing door. The car that had brought him here had vanished into the fog as if it had never existed.
A hush settled over the courtyard. Even the trees seemed to be listening.
Did I imagine him?
Ren's voice barely reached the air. He turned in a slow circle. The mansion stood silent before him, waiting. A single light burned behind one of the upper windows... dim, amber, almost human.
He tightened his grip on the suitcase handle and climbed the wide marble steps. The key slid into the lock with a satisfying click.
The door opened on its own weight, exhaling cool air scented with sandalwood and something faintly metallic. The first thing he noticed was the silence... not empty, but alive, like breath being held.
He stepped inside.
The entrance hall was vast and gleaming, walls of pale stone broken by strips of dark wood. A staircase curved upward in a perfect spiral, its railing a ribbon of black iron. No dust, no footprints, no sign of life.
The lights were dim but steady, casting a soft gold haze over everything. Ren set his suitcase down and toed off his wet shoes. The floor was warm beneath his feet... heated, perhaps, or remembering someone's presence.
He whispered, "Hello?"
His voice disappeared into the ceiling.
A hallway stretched ahead, lined with closed doors. The air carried a faint vibration, almost a sound but not quite... a low hum, like electricity behind a wall. He walked forward, drawn to it.
As he passed each door, he felt something shift behind it, a flicker at the edge of hearing... not movement, but attention. By the third door, his heartbeat had quickened. He pressed his palm to the wall; it was cool, smooth, but the vibration was stronger there, as though the house itself was awake.
Maybe he's inside, Ren thought. Maybe he's just somewhere else in the house.
But the thought didn't comfort him.
He reached a corner and turned. The hum stopped.
A long corridor stretched ahead, lined with tall glass panels. Rain had begun again outside, running in delicate lines down the panes. Beyond them, the garden spread out... silent pools reflecting fragments of the moon.
Ren moved closer, touched the glass. It was colder than before. His reflection looked clearer here, more alive than he felt. His eyes caught the faintest glint of gold around his pupils, something he'd never noticed before. He blinked... it vanished.
He exhaled, fogging the glass. The mist formed the shape of a handprint... his own, yet not. Larger. The fingers reached a little farther.
He stepped back sharply. The air behind him shifted, a whisper of movement. He turned... nothing. Just the dim hallway, the shadow of his suitcase by the stairs, the low hum returning like a sigh.
Maybe I'm dreaming.
He told himself that, quietly. It didn't sound convincing.
He found a door at the end of the hall, opened it, and stepped into a room lit by the soft blue of city light filtering through gauze curtains. A bed stood neatly made, sheets white as snow. On the table beside it sat a glass of water and a folded towel, as though someone had known he'd come tonight.
Ren's body ached, every bruise pulsing in time with his heart. He set the key on the table, sat on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands. The silence pressed against him, not cruelly, just insistently... a weight that wanted acknowledgment.
He looked up. The ceiling fan turned lazily, stirring nothing. He pulled the towel to his face, inhaled. It smelled of cedar and rain, the same scent that clung to the man's coat.
Who are you?
The question echoed in his mind, quieter than his heartbeat.
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. Shadows drifted across it like clouds. The hum deepened... not threatening, just low and steady, almost like someone breathing beneath the floorboards. He told himself it was the old wiring, the pipes. Yet the rhythm matched his own breath perfectly, inhale for inhale, exhale for exhale.
"Stop it," he whispered, eyes closing. "Please."
The sound obeyed. The room stilled.
Ren turned onto his side. Through the curtain, he could see the garden lights shimmering faintly. For the first time that night, his body began to loosen, exhaustion finally overtaking fear.
But as sleep crept closer, he thought he heard footsteps on the gravel outside ... slow, measured, stopping right below his window. The curtains stirred, though the windows were shut.
A voice, soft as the rain: Rest now, Ren.
His eyes snapped open.
No one was there.
Only the faint reflection of his own face in the glass... and behind him, for a heartbeat, a darker silhouette standing at the edge of the room.
Then darkness folded over everything.
END OF THE CHAPTER.