After the incident in the kitchen days earlier, Marin had not known a moment of peace. Every gesture, every sideways glance, every ambiguous comment from her so-called cousin carved new fissures in her fragile sense of safety.
She had grown skilled at pretending not to notice, at lowering her gaze, at slipping away before shadows grew too long. Yet behind that mask, she was vigilant—always measuring the distance between herself and the door, always aware of his movements.
The idea of running away visited her mind more often than she dared to admit. She felt used, her presence in that house nothing but a tool for everyone's convenience. And now, something darker had taken root: a repulsive danger that stalked her in silence.
There were nights she considered seeking refuge in a temple, imagining the serene quiet of incense and bells as a shield from the poison of her home. But she was still underage, still seventeen. The law would drag her back to the very place she feared. Just a little longer, she told herself. Hold out until your eighteenth birthday. Endure.
A Morning Like Any Other
The house was quiet that morning, deceptively so. Her cousin had left for her preparatory course, her aunt had gone to work. The air smelled faintly of toast and coffee, lingering from breakfast.
Marin rose early, as always, her body moving on instinct through the rituals of tidying, wiping, scrubbing. She folded napkins with careful precision, set dishes into neat stacks, and gathered crumbs from the table.
But her mind was elsewhere.
The television had been left on in the living room the night before, and a government broadcast played late into the evening. Marin had caught it while polishing silverware, and the images had clung to her like salt on skin. Even now, closing her eyes only replayed them more vividly: the swell of the sea, the glare of the sun on warships, rows of recruits standing tall in crisp uniforms.
The world outside teetered on the edge of calamity. A global conflict simmered, one that had already swallowed distant nations. Rumors of nuclear escalation traveled like whispers of a storm approaching. People tried to live as if nothing had changed, but unease was etched in every hurried glance on the streets, in every tight-lipped conversation overheard at markets. Fear had stripped kindness away; survival was the only language many still spoke.
That was why governments had turned to aggressive campaigns, promising pride, honor, and stability in exchange for service. The advertisement she had seen spoke specifically of the navy. Gender, class, education—it did not matter. Anyone over eighteen with strength and determination could join.
The footage replayed itself in her heart: the ocean foaming against iron hulls, young men and women lifting their chins toward the horizon, eyes reflecting unyielding resolve.
Her pulse had quickened then.
It feels like a calling.
Even now, clearing plates, the whisper of that truth echoed inside her. The thought alone coaxed an unbidden smile to her lips.
"Why are you smiling like that?"
TUM, TUM, TUM...
The sound of her heart leapt violently as the voice struck her ears.
Marin froze. Every muscle went cold.
Slowly, she turned toward the doorway.
He was there.
Her aunt's stepson, leaning lazily against the frame, eyes fixed on her. His smirk was thin, crooked, and heavy with something unspoken.
Why is he awake? He never gets up before noon... Did he plan this?
The unease that stalked her at night had seeped into the daylight. She had long known he lingered near her room when the world slept. Sometimes she heard the faint rattle of her doorknob, the hushed scrape of knuckles against wood. Instinct had taught her to shove her desk against the door, a flimsy barricade that barely held back her terror.
During the day, she found safety in the presence of her aunt or cousin. They had no idea, no awareness of the predator in their home, but their company had been enough to keep him at bay.
But now—
They were gone.
And he was here.
Alone with her.
TUM, TUM, TUM...
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
He stepped forward, eyes sweeping her figure with a hunger that made her skin crawl.
That rotten stench of desire... vile, festering.
Filth.
"Silent again, with that same dull look," he drawled. His voice carried an edge that slithered under her skin.
He took a slow step toward the table.
TUM, TUM, TUM...
"You should smile more. You look prettier that way."
His words were coated in oil, slick and suffocating.
Instinct drove her backward, one careful step at a time, creating space between them.
"I should put the food away," Marin answered, her tone steady despite the tremor rising inside her. "There's still plenty left."
She turned, angling toward the doorway. Freedom was only a few steps away.
"Hey, not so fast!"
His hand shot out, clamping around her arm.
TUM, TUM, TUM...
The contact seared her skin like fire.
"Let me go!" Her voice cracked as she jerked free, wrenching herself from his grip. Disgust blazed openly in her eyes.
That expression—the rejection—lit fury across his face.
"What's wrong with you? Since I came back, I've been trying to be nice. I even gave you chocolates! And you treat me like this?"
He shifted quickly, planting himself in front of the doorway, blocking her escape.
"You talk like we're close," Marin replied, voice sharp. "But we've never spoken before you returned. And now suddenly you act so interested? I'm not the one acting strange."
Her heart raced, but her spine refused to bend. She would not cower.
She moved to slip past him, but his hand lunged, dragging her back with a brutal force.
"You're getting arrogant, huh?" His grip snaked around her waist, pulling her tight against him. His voice dropped, oily and low. "You should be grateful I'm treating you well. There are plenty who would kill for this chance."
TUM, TUM, TUM...
Her breath hitched, chest constricting as the weight of his arm crushed her ribs.
"No! Let me go!" Marin shoved at him, but the pressure only tightened.
The pounding in her ears grew deafening.
"You can't run from me forever," he hissed. "You hide in that little storeroom you call a room, but I know you hear me at night. I know you feel it. And now, you're going to listen. I'm done with your attitude!"
His hand squeezed, pressing against her, invading the sacred space she had fought so hard to protect. His breath, hot and sour, brushed the side of her face.
TUM, TUM, TUM...
Disgust!
Every nerve screamed.
Her gaze darted wildly around the room. Anything, anything she could use.
And then she saw it.
The porcelain vase on the shelf.
Without hesitation, she seized it.
The cool weight of ceramic anchored her resolve.
With all the strength desperation lent her, she swung.
CRASH!
The vase shattered against his skull, shards exploding across the floor.
His eyes went wide, then empty. His body crumpled to the tiles in a heap.
Silence, broken only by the frantic rhythm of her own breath.
Marin staggered back, clutching a jagged fragment still in her hand, her knuckles bloodless from tension.
He lay motionless.
But for how long?
TUM, TUM, TUM...
Her heart hammered, a drumbeat of alarm.
The phantom memory of his hands burned against her skin. The vile sound of his breath lingered in her ears.
TUM, TUM, TUM...
She couldn't stay.
Not here. Not another second.
She had to act. Now.