After finishing the purchase of several packets of food and canned drinks, James Aron left the store and headed back toward his apartment. However, after only a few steps, his instincts caught something amiss.
Someone was following him.
Aron did not turn around. He quickened his pace, his heartbeat remaining steady—not out of bravery, but because he no longer cared. That was when a voice called out his name.
"Mr. James Aron!"
Aron stopped.
He took a short breath before turning around. A young Black man stood not far from him. The man's face looked anxious, not threatening.
"Do you know me?" Aron asked calmly. In his mind, even if the man meant harm—whether by gun or knife—he would not resist.
"I… I need help."
"About what?"
"My brother," the man said quickly, his voice heavy with hope. "A police officer told me to look for you. He said you're a lawyer. You take any case."
Aron gave a bitter smile. "I'm sorry. I'm not a good lawyer."
"That's okay," the man replied at once. "At least you can try." He swallowed. "My brother was framed. Every lawyer who tried to help before this backed out. I don't even know why."
"Framed?" Aron raised an eyebrow.
"My brother was accused of assaulting a man. But when it happened, he was with me." The man clenched his hands. "The problem is… there's CCTV footage showing my brother hitting that man. But I know it. The person in that recording isn't my brother."
"If that's the case, the police should investigate," Aron replied.
The man fell silent for a moment. Anxiety clearly wrapped around his face. "The detective handling the case… it feels like he's already been paid. I'm not accusing anyone, but—"
"I'm not refusing to help," Aron interrupted softly. "I'm just saying what I said before—I'm not a good lawyer."
Suddenly, a woman's voice cut in from beside them.
"There is proof that your brother was with you at the time of the incident."
Aron and the man both flinched.
A woman was standing next to Aron—far too close for someone whose presence had gone unnoticed. Her face was calm, pale, and her voice flat.
The man shook his head slightly, still stunned. "You… who are you?"
The woman did not answer. Instead, she turned to the man.
"Hold out your hand."
"My hand?" The man looked at her uncertainly.
"Yes. Your hand."
Hesitantly, the man held out his palm. Without warning, the woman pricked it with the tip of her index finger.
"Ah—!"
Aron and the man were startled for the second time when the woman brought the bloodied finger to her mouth.
A few seconds passed in an odd silence.
The woman lifted her face, her eyes shifting to Aron.
"His brother is innocent," she said calmly. "You can help him."
"Who are you?" Aron asked again.
"You don't need to know," the woman replied evenly. "But I have proof that his brother is innocent. And you are the only one who can prove it."
At those words, the man's expression brightened slightly. Hope was clearly visible in his eyes.
"Please help me, Mr. Aron," he said earnestly. "I'm willing to pay you."
Aron did not answer right away. At that moment, his thoughts were not on the man's brother's case, but on the woman beside him—the way she stood too close, too confident, as if she had known Aron for a long time.
"Give me your phone number," Aron said at last. "I'll think about it before making a decision."
The man looked relieved. He quickly pulled a business card from his pocket and handed it to Aron. Aron took the card without looking at it.
"Go home first," Aron added. "I'll contact you later."
The man nodded repeatedly. "I really hope you'll call me soon, Mr. Aron."
"Yeah… all right."
The man walked away, leaving Aron and the woman standing on the sidewalk. For a few moments, they simply watched him until he disappeared from sight.
Then Aron turned and walked off, paying no attention to the woman beside him.
"Are you going to help his brother?" the woman asked, following after him.
No answer.
"Did you hear me?"
Aron stopped. He turned with an impatient expression.
"Could you stop bothering me?" he said coldly. "I don't know you."
The woman did not step back. "My name is Victoria."
"I don't care."
"What?" Victoria's brow furrowed. She stood frozen, staring at Aron as he continued walking away without even a glance back.
Aron walked straight into his apartment building without looking back. His hand pressed the elevator button, and almost immediately the doors slid open.
He stepped inside.
At that moment, Victoria was already gone from behind him.
Aron let out a short breath.
"Eighth floor, right?"
The voice came from his right.
"What the fuck!" Aron shouted in shock. The plastic bag in his hand slipped and fell to the elevator floor.
He turned sharply. "How—" His words trailed off. Without waiting for an answer, he bent down to pick up the fallen bag. His face returned to its usual blank expression, as if he didn't care.
Victoria stood too close. Her nose lifted slightly, sniffing the scent of the man slowly.
"Yes… it's him," she whispered, barely audible. Her face was subtly furrowed. "But why is he still alive? Why hasn't he turned into a species like me?"
Aron ignored her completely.
Ding.
The elevator doors opened.
"Don't follow me," Aron said coldly before stepping out. "Or I'll call the police."
Victoria continued to follow silently, without a word.
Aron quickened his pace along the corridor. When he reached his apartment door, he paused, glancing left and right—then back.
No one.
Victoria had vanished.
Only then did Aron enter his apartment. He closed the door firmly and locked it.
He leaned his back against the door, breathing a sigh of relief.
"This is so—"
"Holly shit!"
The scream escaped before he realized it. Aron was so startled that his legs gave way, and he collapsed onto the floor.
"Your house… is like a garbage dump." Victoria paced through the living room. Her tone was flat. "It stinks."
She continued toward the bedroom, paying no attention to Aron, who was still frozen in place. Her eyes roamed over every corner of the room until they settled on a single strand of blonde hair on the bed.
Victoria picked it up.
She inhaled the hair slowly, then stepped back into the living room. Her lips curved slightly as she saw Aron had already stood up, his face tense.
"Your fiancée was cheating before you even got engaged."
Aron flinched.
"Every time you went to work," Victoria continued mercilessly, "a man would come here. They… were together." She tilted her head. "Not just once."
"Enough." Aron's voice rose. "I don't want to hear this."
He turned and rushed to the kitchen. The can was opened roughly, and he drank the alcohol in long, uninterrupted gulps.
"I will help you," Victoria said calmly.
Aron let out a bitter chuckle. "No need. You'd better leave now."
"I will make you a famous lawyer."
Aron slammed the can onto the counter. "I said no need." He turned sharply. "Are you deaf?!"
"You are weak, James Aron. Your spirit is high, but your mind… is more fragile than a child's," Victoria said without mercy.
"So what?" Aron sneered. "Am I bothering you? Wait—who are you really? Why do you care about my life? Did I ever wrong you?"
Victoria stepped closer to him.
"Just because of a woman, you're willing to end your own life. Foolish. Men as weak as you are easily used."
"Okay… satisfied now?" Aron turned his face away. "If so, get out of here."
"I will help you, Aron."
"No need. Please leave."
"I genuinely want to help you."
"I said no need. Go."
Victoria stopped at the table. Her nails scraped lightly against the wood, producing a faint sound that made Aron glance over unconsciously.
"This is a license plate number," she said calmly. "Find this car. Its dashcam recorded the brother and his sibling together. The recording's timestamp matches the time of the assault."
As soon as the words left her mouth—
Victoria vanished.