Yesterday's warmth felt like a cruel, twisted joke today.
The golden sunlight, the lights of the fair, Asha's sleeping face in the car—it all felt like fragments of someone else's life.
Today, there was only the bone-chilling cold.
Iren sat in a corner of the abandoned warehouse, his back pressed against the freezing iron wall.
The metal was cold as ice, but he didn't move.
Inside his mind, the same scene replayed—Asha's innocent face leaning against the car window.
The light from the lamp posts danced across her cheek before fading away.
In a life filled with wreckage, Iren wanted to guard this single memory like a priceless treasure.
He closed his eyes.
Right then—Doll spoke.
Doll:
"Neural stability at 88%.
Emotional interference detected.
Recommendation: System Reset."
Iren didn't open his eyes. He whispered into the darkness,
"Shut up."
He didn't want to reset. He didn't want to lose the warmth of that yellow color.
His gaze drifted down to his hand—where the paint had been yesterday.
The hand was clean now.
But in his mind, that yellow glow was still burning bright.
Suddenly—the wind changed.
The usual salty scent of the Docks was gone.
The metallic taste of rusted iron had vanished.
In its place—an impossible fragrance.
Fresh Jasmine.
Iren's body reacted before his brain could process it.
He stood up in a single, fluid motion.
His eyes scanned the entire area.
Heat signatures—None.
Footsteps—None.
Breathing—None.
There was only a heavy, suffocating silence.
But the scent was undeniable.
He moved slowly toward the ledge where he had placed the dried yellow flower (Chapter 43).
His heart skipped a beat.
The dried flower was gone.
In its place sat a vibrant, fresh Yellow Jasmine.
The petals were damp, as if they had just been plucked.
In this wasteland of ruins, where could such a garden exist?
Beside the flower, a message was carved into the iron wall with a knife.
The handwriting was perfect. Surgical.
"Beautiful memories are fragile things, Iren."
His body froze.
It wasn't the fear for his own life. It was the fear of being seen.
The Shadow wasn't just watching from a distance. He was close.
Incredibly close.
He had seen the yellow paint. He had seen the dried flower.
He had measured the laughter at the fair.
While Iren was unknowingly becoming "human," someone was documenting every second of it.
Doll:
"Heart rate increasing.
Adrenaline levels: Critical.
Threat level: Maximum."
Iren didn't go looking for the enemy.
He knew the Hunter was already invisible again.
Instead, he looked far away—toward Asha's house.
The hands that could crush steel were trembling ever so slightly.
The Hunter hadn't left a bomb. Not a weapon.
He had left a realization.
Iren picked up the jasmine flower.
He crushed it in his palm.
The petals broke. The sweet scent entered his lungs, feeling like pure poison.
He understood now.
This wasn't a challenge. It was a declaration.
3:00 AM.
Asha was sleeping in her room.
The sound of quiet breathing filled the house.
Right then—the main door creaked ever so slightly.
A whisper of a sound.
Then—
Knock...
Knock...
Knock...
Unnaturally slow. Unnaturally steady.
Someone knew that the one sleeping inside didn't know yet—
Just how fragile a beautiful memory can be.
Chapter End.