The air in the house felt wrong.
Too still.
Too quiet.
Vixen didn't speak after Kin's question. His eyes lingered on the spot where the black figure had been, as though the shadow might crawl back into existence if he looked away.
Kin sat up slowly, a faint chill creeping down his spine. "It's still here… isn't it?" His voice trembled—not from fear alone, but from the strange, heavy pressure in the room.
Vixen stepped closer, but Kin suddenly grabbed his wrist. "Don't move."
From the corner of the ceiling… something shifted.
It wasn't a shadow cast by the light—it was darker, thicker, wrong. It clung to the wall like wet ink, slowly crawling downward. No face. No form. Just the feeling of something alive—watching.
A low, distorted sound—half-breath, half-laugh—filled the room.
Vixen's hand moved instinctively toward the dagger at his belt. But before he could draw it, the thing slid across the wall, stretching unnaturally thin, as if the plaster itself was letting it pass through.
Kin's heartbeat pounded in his ears. The talisman around his neck burned hot against his skin.
Then—a whisper.
Right behind him.
Not in any language he understood, but full of hunger.
Kin's breath caught. "It wants me," he whispered.
The air turned colder. The lights flickered.
Without warning, the shadow surged forward—its shape twisting into something tall and almost human, but with too many joints, too many limbs bending the wrong way. Its head tilted toward Kin at an impossible angle.
Vixen lunged between them, the blade in his hand now glowing faintly.
The figure stopped.
It didn't retreat. It didn't vanish.
It simply stood there—watching—its head still tilted, as if memorizing them.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, it sank into the floor… and was gone.
But the air didn't feel lighter.
If anything, it felt heavier.
Because both Kin and Vixen knew—
It hadn't left.
It was just hiding.
Somewhere in the dark.
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Continue....