The night shift at Night Sun Market dragged on with the dull slowness of any other day.
Seina was stacking cans of peas on shelf four, the metallic clinking echoing through the near silence of the store.
Her mind wandered — to Thalya, to the promise, to the seventh day creeping closer like a shadow at dusk.
It was hard to believe the routine of beep, bag, change still existed in such a broken world.
The bell above the door chimed — a sharp sound that sliced through the quiet.
Seina looked up out of reflex, a "good afternoon" nearly leaving her lips — but the words died in her throat.
Standing beneath the harsh fluorescent light was a figure that didn't belong there.
They wore a long, dark overcoat made of heavy fabric that hid their entire shape. The hood was pulled forward, and over their face — a black surgical mask and a pair of large, round sunglasses that reflected Seina's own frightened image back at her.
Not a trace of humanity showed — just a deliberate, dark shape.
The figure didn't greet her.
Their movements were fluid, almost mechanical, as they walked straight to the candy aisle.
Seina froze, watching.
Something about that posture — that way of standing — felt disturbingly familiar. A chill ran down her spine.
She couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman, but she saw them pick up a single bar of dark chocolate and walk toward the register.
Forcing her legs to move, Seina took her place behind the counter. Her heart pounded against her ribs.
"Good… afternoon," she said, her voice barely a breath. "Just this?"
The figure only nodded — a small, almost imperceptible motion.
Silence.
A gloved hand — thin, covered in black fabric — emerged from the coat pocket and held out a bill.
As Seina reached to take the money, the figure made a small motion, adjusting their glove.
It was quick — but enough for the hood to slip back, just a centimeter.
And that's when she saw it.
For a fraction of a second, under the white light of the store, a strand of hair slipped free from the hood's edge.
It was silvery — artificial, metallic — that exact tone that could only be a deliberate imitation of… Thalya.
Seina's blood turned to ice.
She looked up, desperate to see through those impenetrable black lenses.
Then the figure spoke.
The voice, muffled by the mask, was distorted — low, hoarse, deliberately altered. Impossible to recognize.
"Seina."
Just her name.
Not a question.
A statement — heavy with a sick kind of intimacy.
Seina froze, the damp bill still in her hand. Her world had shrunk to the counter, to that figure that knew her name.
"Who… who are you?" she whispered, her voice trembling.
The figure ignored the question.
They reached out to take the change.
This time, the sleeve slid back farther — revealing not only a few more strands of silver hair, but also a thin, circular scar around the wrist, like the mark of a cigarette burn.
The gloved hand closed over the coins.
"Take care," the distorted voice whispered.
Then the figure turned and left.
The glass door shut slowly behind them — the bell chiming one last time, unnaturally loud in the sudden silence.
Seina stood there for what felt like an eternity.
Her legs trembled.
The store — once her dull little refuge — now felt like the stage of a nightmare.
The image of that silver strand and that scar burned in her mind.
Who was that? What did they want? Why did they look like Thalya?
Paranoia wrapped around her like fog. Every sound made her flinch. Every shadow outside looked like the figure.
She straightened the shelves mechanically, her mind spinning in a cycle of fear and unanswered questions.
When Mr. Kim came to close the register, she could barely form a coherent sentence.
"Sorry I'm late," he said, glancing at her. "You look pale as a ghost, girl. Go home. Sleep. Tomorrow's another day."
Tomorrow's another day.
Such a simple phrase — yet it sounded like a terrifying prophecy.
Seina left the store and began walking home.
She looked up — the night sky was beautiful, the moon bright and full.
Then she checked her phone.
And the true horror hit her like a punch to the gut.
23:56.
Her blood drained cold.
It was the seventh day.
She had spent the entire evening trapped in a stranger's fabricated terror — and had forgotten the only thing that mattered.
The only promise she couldn't break.
Her trembling hands unlocked the phone. The screen blurred in her vision.
Seina (23:57): Thalya! Where are you?
She sent it.
Seconds passed. Nothing. The signal bar flickered weakly.
Seina (23:58): Thalya, please. Answer me.
Seina (23:59): I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Where are you?
The clock changed.
00:00.
Seina lifted her eyes to the darkness, bracing for the worst.
But nothing happened.
The street stayed silent.
And then — one minute past midnight — the world began to collapse.
There was no sound.
It was a feeling first — as if the ground had turned to quicksand beneath her feet.
Her vision warped; the edges of everything around her dissolved into white static.
A blinding light burst behind her eyes, pulling her into a weightless void.
The last thought she managed to have, before absolute silence consumed her, was that she had failed.
She wasn't there.
And now, Thalya was dead — alone — and she didn't even know how.