The moon hung low behind the clouds, its weary light fading across the night sky.
The air was thick with dampness — heavy, still, and strangely suffocating.
The city slept in a silence so deep, it felt as though someone had tied time's own feet.
Streetlights flickered weakly along the empty roads, their golden glow dissolving into the mist.
Ilyana was running—fast, breathless, desperate.
Her footsteps echoed against the wet pavement, sharp and hurried.
Her breathing grew ragged; every inhale felt like fire filling her lungs.
Strands of her red hair clung to her damp face, and though the cold wind bit into her skin, sweat still trickled down her forehead.
"No… no, this can't be happening…" she muttered between trembling breaths.
At the corner of the street, she paused and looked back.
Nothing.
No shadow. No footsteps.
Yet… she felt it—that stare.
Cold. watching. waiting.
Across the street stood an old, broken building. Its windows shattered, its door stained with rust.
Lightning cracked across the sky, and for a single heartbeat, the world flashed white.
In that flicker of light, she saw it—a dark silhouette on the rooftop, motionless, staring right at her.
A scream rose in her throat, but it never came out.
Her heart pounded so loudly it drowned every other sound.
With trembling hands, she pushed her hair back and started to run again—toward her car.
She reached it—and froze.
Something glinted on the windshield.
She stepped closer, and her breath caught.
A small note clung to the glass, rain dripping down its edges.
The ink hadn't smudged. The words were perfectly clear:
"You left your wings behind, Butterfly."
Her fingers shook as she reached for the paper—but she couldn't grip it.
For a moment, she felt rooted to the ground, as though the earth itself had claimed her.
And then—that sound again.
The faintest whisper, brushing against her ears.
Her breath stilled.
The street was empty, but the wind carried a hint of movement—as if someone had just walked past.
"Who's there?!"
Her voice trembled, echoing like it came from a deep hollow within her chest.
No answer.
Just silence—vast and suffocating.
Even the wind had gone still, as if it too was holding its breath.
Her steps faltered.
The world blurred—street signs, traffic lights, everything dissolving into haze.
From somewhere distant came the sound of dogs barking, sharp and haunting.
And around her, only the silence remained—breathing, alive, watching.
The moon slipped behind the clouds.
Darkness thickened, swallowing the last trace of comfort.
And then—she heard it.
The low hum of an engine behind her.
She turned slowly.
A black car crept down the road toward her, its headlights off, its shape ghostlike beneath the mist.
There was someone inside.
But she couldn't see the face.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
"No… no…"
She stumbled back a step — and the car stopped just a few feet away.
The passenger door clicked open — slowly.
She spun around—and ran.
Her footsteps echoed in the cold air, the rhythm of her breathing clashing with the whisper of the wind.
It wasn't fear anymore—it was pure, bone-deep terror.
The kind only felt by those who know… the thing chasing them isn't human.
At the next corner, she stopped—chest heaving, heart racing.
She leaned against a wall, forcing herself to breathe, and dared to look back.
The car was gone.
The street—empty.
As if nothing had ever been there.
Rain began again, soft and relentless, sliding down her face like tears.
"This isn't over…" she whispered, her lips trembling.
She sank to the side of the road, lifting her bare, wounded feet.
Blood mingled with rainwater, flowing across the pavement.
Her breath grew shallow, but her heart—it wouldn't calm.
It kept beating, waiting for something… unseen.
Then, from far away, came the sound of screeching tires.
Before she could stand, the blaze of headlights flared—blinding, white, merciless.
She raised her hands to shield her face—but it was too late.