When Abigail woke up the next morning, the first thing that came to her mind wasn't the strange city…
It was him.
She sat up slowly, her brows slightly furrowed as she tried to recall the events of the night before—the narrow road, the shadows, the fear… and the man who appeared out of nowhere.
Her fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet.
"…Why can't I remember his face?"
She closed her eyes, trying harder this time. His voice… she remembered. Calm. Deep. Cold.
His presence… she remembered that too. Overwhelming, yet strangely comforting.
But his face—
Nothing.
It was as if her mind refused to form it.
A faint unease crept into her chest.
Abigail got out of bed and walked toward the mirror. For a moment, she just stood there, staring at her reflection.
Everything was normal.
Her face. Her eyes. Her expression.
Yet something about it felt… off.
She leaned in slightly.
"…Why do I feel like I'm being watched?"
The room was silent.
She let out a soft breath and shook her head, stepping away.
"Get a grip, Abigail…"
Downstairs, Mrs. Wen was already setting the table.
"You're awake," she said without looking up.
"Mm."
Abigail sat down, still distracted.
After a moment, she spoke.
"About last night…"
Mrs. Wen's hands paused for a brief second—so quick it was almost unnoticeable.
"What about it?" she asked calmly.
"That place… the road… it didn't feel normal."
Silence.
Mrs. Wen placed the bowl down and finally looked at her.
"Don't go out at night again," she said.
Abigail frowned. "That's not an answer."
"It doesn't have to be," she replied shortly. "Just listen."
Abigail studied her for a moment.
"…Some things here don't like being seen," Mrs. Wen added quietly before turning away.
That only made things worse.
The city of Gao was lively again during the day, just as it had been when she first arrived.
People moved about, vendors called out, and carriages rolled along the dusty roads.
But today… it felt different.
As Abigail walked past, she began to notice it.
The stares.
Not curious… not friendly…
But something else.
A woman pulling her child slightly closer.
A man pausing mid-conversation to watch her pass.
A group whispering under their breath.
Abigail slowed her steps.
"…What is wrong with these people?"
She looked down at herself.
Nothing strange.
Yet the feeling lingered.
Without realizing it, her feet carried her back to that same narrow road.
The air there was different.
Quieter.
Heavier.
The lively sounds of the city faded behind her as she stepped deeper in.
Her heartbeat picked up slightly.
"I shouldn't be here…" she muttered.
And yet—
She didn't turn back.
A faint breeze passed through the tall grass.
Then—
A scent.
Subtle.
Spicy… yet slightly sweet.
Abigail froze.
Her breath hitched.
"That scent…"
Before she could think further—
A figure stood ahead.
Tall.
Still.
His back facing her.
Long dark hair fell over his shoulders, moving slightly with the wind.
She couldn't see his face.
Not even a glimpse.
But she knew.
"…It's him."
"You came back."
His voice was exactly the same.
Calm.
Cold.
Unmoved.
Abigail swallowed, gathering her courage as she stepped closer.
"Who are you?" she asked.
No answer.
She took another step, trying to move around him—to see his face.
But just as she did, he shifted slightly.
Not much.
Just enough.
The shadows swallowed his features again.
Her brows knit.
"Why won't you let me see you?"
Silence.
He didn't respond.
Instead, he stepped forward.
Closer.
Abigail instinctively stiffened.
The scent grew stronger.
For some reason… her fear eased.
Her racing heart slowed.
And that confused her even more.
"Don't come here again," he said.
His tone was firm. Final.
"Why?" she shot back. "What is this place? What are those things? And who are you?"
A pause.
Then—
"…Someone you should avoid."
Her expression hardened slightly. "That's not an answer."
"It's enough."
Before she could argue—
A rustling sound echoed from the bushes.
Abigail turned sharply.
The figures were back.
Distorted.
Unnatural.
Watching.
But this time… they didn't rush her.
They lingered.
Waiting.
A chill ran down her spine.
The man stepped forward—just one step.
That was all.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
The figures recoiled.
Retreated.
Like something far more dangerous stood before them.
Abigail's eyes widened slightly.
He didn't even touch them.
Didn't move beyond that.
Yet they feared him.
"…What are you?" she whispered.
He didn't answer.
"Next time…" he said quietly, "I might not be here."
Her chest tightened.
"Then tell me who you are!" she demanded.
Silence.
The wind passed.
The scent faded.
Something felt… wrong.
Abigail turned—
He was gone.
Just like that.
No sound.
No trace.
"…What the hell…" she murmured under her breath.
She didn't stop running until she got home.
The door shut behind her with a soft thud.
Mrs. Wen was sitting in the living room.
Waiting.
"You went out again," she said.
It wasn't a question.
Abigail hesitated.
"…Yes."
A long pause followed.
Mrs. Wen studied her.
But this time—
There was something different in her eyes.
Not anger.
Not worry.
Something closer to… fear.
"Go to your room," she said quietly.
Abigail didn't argue.
Back in her room, she sat on the bed, her thoughts restless.
The voice.
The scent.
The presence.
Everything about him felt real.
Too real.
Yet—
She closed her eyes again, trying to picture his face.
Nothing.
Blank.
"…Why do I remember everything…" she whispered,
"…except him?"
The room fell silent.
Then—
Very faint.
Very distant.
"Abigail…"
Her eyes snapped open.
Her heart pounded.
"…Who's there?"
No answer.
Only silence.
But this time—
She was sure.
She wasn't alone.