The night air bit at Palo's skin as he stepped out of the police station. A thin layer of fog drifted along the sidewalk, blurring the streetlights into hazy orbs. Somewhere far off, a dog barked once, then fell silent.
But the street in front of him remained empty.
Ash had vanished again.
Palo scanned both ends of the road as if the boy might suddenly reappear from the fog. But nothing moved—no footsteps, no shadows, no drifting figure in a dark jacket.
Just cold, heavy stillness.
Palo wrapped his arms around himself and started down the sidewalk. Each step echoed louder than he expected. The farther he walked, the more the uneasiness in his chest grew.
Ash didn't just leave.
He fled.
Palo replayed the last seconds before Ash disappeared. The tense jaw. The hollowed eyes. The look that wasn't fear but something worse—knowledge.
Ash knew something about Audrey's disappearance.
And whatever it was, it terrified him.
Palo turned a corner, shoving his hands into his pockets to fight the cold. His mind spun through possibilities—none of them good.
Did Ash see something?
Did someone threaten him?
Did he follow Audrey? Did he try to stop someone?
Or the worst question of all:
Was he already involved in whatever happened?
Palo stopped walking.
No.
He didn't want to think that.
It felt wrong.
Ash was strange, yes. Guarded. Too quiet for his own good. But underneath all that, Palo sensed something steady. Something broken, maybe—but not cruel.
He exhaled shakily and kept moving.
A buzzing sound broke the silence.
Palo flinched before realizing it was coming from his own pocket. He pulled out his phone, expecting a message from the police, or Audrey's mother, or anyone trying to follow up.
Instead, the screen showed an unknown number.
Palo hesitated, thumb hovering over the answer button. Then he pressed it.
"Hello?"
Static rushed through the speaker—brief, crackling, uneven. Palo held his breath, listening hard.
Then a voice whispered:
"Palo."
His heart lurched. "Ash? Is that you?"
More static. Then the voice again—shaky this time, as if the speaker was breathless or moving fast.
"Don't… don't go home."
Palo froze. "What? Why not?"
"Someone's following you."
The fog thickened around him. Palo's throat dried. "Ash—where are you? What happened?"
But the line crackled violently.
And then—
"Trust me. Don't go home tonight."
The call cut.
The screen went black.
Palo stood in the middle of the sidewalk, phone clutched in a trembling hand, pulse pounding in his ears. He instantly reached to redial the number.
But the call went straight to voicemail.
He tried again.
Same thing.
Palo lowered the phone slowly.
His breath formed pale clouds in the air.
Ash was afraid.
Ash was running.
And Ash thought Palo was in danger too.
Palo looked up and scanned the fog again—not for Ash this time, but for the person Ash said was following him.
The street looked empty.
Too empty.
A chill crawled up Palo's spine.
He forced himself to move, faster this time. He didn't know where he was going yet—only that he couldn't go home.
And then, halfway down the block, he heard it.
A second pair of footsteps.
Soft.
Measured.
Following.
Palo didn't look back.
He started to run.
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