Ren didn't wait to see what had exhaled.
He slammed the front door shut so hard the frame rattled. The latch clicked—small, weak. He threw the deadbolt. Then the chain.
"Ren?" his grandmother called from the living room. Her voice carried warning now. Fear.
"I'm going to school," Ren shouted back.
He didn't wait for permission.
He grabbed his backpack, shoved his feet into his sneakers, and fled out the back door.
He needed people.
Noise.
Normal.
The rain had stopped, leaving the streets slick and grey. Ren walked fast, head down, counting cracks in the sidewalk.
One. Two. Three.
You're rational, he told himself.
You fainted. Hypoxia. Brain misfire.
His body didn't believe a word of it.
Every passing car made him flinch. Tires on wet asphalt didn't sound like rubber—it sounded like cloth dragging over bone.
The subway station smelled like damp wool and ozone. Ren welcomed it. It was crowded. Commuters. Phones. Coffee cups.
Crowds are safe.
He swiped his card and pushed through the turnstile.
Beep.
The sound screeched in his skull like a dying bird. Ren winced, rubbing his temple.
Migraine, he decided. Sensory overload.
The train arrived with a rush of warm wind. Ren squeezed into the middle car, gripping a pole. A businessman stood beside him, reading a tablet. A woman popped gum behind him.
Pop.
Pop.
The sound echoed too loudly.
The train lurched forward. Wheels screamed against the tracks. The overhead lights buzzed—low, angry.
Ren opened his eyes to check the station map.
The lights shuddered.
Not a flicker.
A shift.
Snap.
Sound vanished.
No train. No voices. No announcements.
Silence.
Ren looked around. "Hello?"
The businessman turned.
He wasn't wearing a suit anymore.
Grey rags clung to a bloated body. Skin sloughed off in wet strips. Grey muscle glistened underneath.
Ren stumbled back, hitting the doors.
To his left—the woman was gone.
In her place stood a skeleton, jaw unhinged, chewing empty air while staring into a black mirror.
The entire car was full of them.
The Dead.
They stood perfectly still, swaying gently with the motion of the silent train.
Then the businessman turned his head further.
His eyes were gone. Just weeping sockets filled with black oil.
He looked directly at Ren.
Opened his mouth.
No tongue. Just darkness.
He pointed at Ren's chest.
The smell hit him—stagnant water and copper.
The thing took a step forward.
Ren squeezed his eyes shut.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
Cold breath brushed his face.
SNAP.
Noise slammed back into existence.
"Hey, kid. You're stepping on my foot."
Ren's eyes flew open.
The businessman was frowning, adjusting his glasses. Clean suit. Healthy skin.
Ren gasped, dragging in air so violently people stared.
"I—I'm fine," he choked. "Motion sickness."
The train screeched into the next station.
Ren stumbled out onto the platform and retched into a trash can, his stomach empty.
He stared at the departing train through blurred vision.
Normal people.
Normal morning.
"I'm losing it," he whispered. "I'm actually losing my mind."
He tightened his grip on his backpack straps.
School, he thought desperately. School is real.
He turned toward the stairs.
He didn't see his shadow hesitate near the tracks—lingering a heartbeat too long—before snapping back into place behind