## Chapter 5 – The Man Who Quit
I didn't answer the last message.
I couldn't.
My phone felt heavier than ever, like it was filled with every name I'd seen and every face I didn't want to remember. Mr. Han's quiet nod in the hallway replayed in my mind. The way he fed the cats. The way he always smiled, even when no one smiled back.
A debt.
That's what he'd been reduced to.
I walked until my legs burned and my thoughts blurred together. The city lights came on as the sky darkened, painting the streets in yellow and white. People laughed in cafes. Couples argued on corners. Life went on, indifferent and loud.
I ended up at a bus stop I didn't recognize.
The sign was crooked. The bench was cracked. Someone had carved names into the metal with a knife.
I sat down and stared at my phone.
**ME:** You said I'm not the first.
The dots appeared.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *No.*
**ME:** Then show me someone who stopped.
There was a long pause.
So long I thought the phone had finally gone dead.
Then a message appeared.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Two streets east. Building with the red door. Third floor. Apartment 302.*
I stood up.
I don't know why I trusted it.
But I did.
The building was older than mine, its paint peeling like sunburned skin. The red door was chipped and faded, the color of dried blood. The stairwell smelled like dust and old smoke.
Apartment 302.
I knocked.
Nothing.
I knocked again, louder.
The door creaked open an inch.
An eye appeared in the gap.
"Go away," a voice whispered.
"I just want to talk," I said. "They told me you'd understand."
The door opened slowly.
The man standing there looked like he hadn't slept in years. His hair was gray at the temples, his eyes sunken and red. His hands shook as he stepped back to let me in.
The apartment was dark. Curtains drawn. Every wall was covered in notes, strings, photos, and handwritten names. Dates. Times. Places.
A shrine to death.
"You see them too," he said.
I swallowed. "You were a Watcher."
He laughed—a dry, broken sound. "Was. For a while."
I looked at the wall. Hundreds of names. Thousands.
"How many?" I asked.
"Enough," he said. "Enough to last me the rest of my life."
I pointed to a blank space on the wall. "Why'd you stop?"
His smile faded.
"I couldn't pay the price anymore."
My chest tightened. "What happens when you walk away?"
He looked at me like I'd asked what happens when you stop breathing.
"They take something from you instead."
"What?"
He stepped closer.
"Everything."
I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket.
I didn't take it out.
"People think forgetting is mercy," he continued. "It's not. It's worse. You lose the faces. The names. The moments that made you… you."
He tapped his temple.
"I don't remember my wife's voice. I don't remember my daughter's face. I remember every death I couldn't stop. But nothing I loved."
My throat went dry.
"Why are you still here?" I asked.
"Because if I leave," he said softly, "I won't remember why I wanted to."
My phone vibrated again.
Harder this time.
I pulled it out.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *He's telling you the truth.*
The man looked at the screen.
His eyes widened.
"They still talk to you?" he whispered.
I nodded.
He backed away like I was dangerous.
"Then you're not like me," he said. "You're still useful."
I clenched my fists.
"I don't want to be."
He met my eyes.
"No one ever does."
My phone buzzed one more time.
**UNKNOWN NUMBER:** *Your next name is already waiting.*
I looked at the man in front of me, at the empty spaces on his walls, at the life he'd lost by trying to escape.
And I knew.
There was no walking away.
There was only forward.
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