When Ren woke, it was to the hush of morning light... soft, silvery, unsteady.
For a moment, he didn't remember where he was. The ceiling above him was pale and high, carved faintly with vines that looked almost alive in the shifting sun. The sheets were no longer cold; they carried a faint warmth, the kind that lingers after someone has just risen from the bed.
He blinked, once, twice. The air smelled faintly of rain and jasmine.
He turned his head slowly, half expecting to see someone beside him.
There was no one.
Only the indentation on the other side of the bed... subtle, like a ghost of weight.
Ren sat up. The motion sent a dull ache through his body, the kind that comes after deep, dreamless sleep. His fingers brushed the mark on his neck... the strange, half-formed birthmark... and for a heartbeat, he swore it burned softly beneath his touch.
The night felt unreal, like something he had imagined in the fever of exhaustion. Yet the memory of that voice lingered, echoing faintly:
I'll kill whoever touches you.
He rubbed his arms, trying to shake the chill that crept through him.
Sunlight poured across the room, highlighting the thin layer of dust that coated the furniture... the kind of dust that only gathers in places left untouched for years.
The mansion was too quiet.
He stood, feet pressing against the wooden floor, and walked toward the balcony again. The city stretched far below, now veiled in morning mist. The same beauty as last night... only now, it looked unreal, as if the world outside existed on the other side of a painting.
Something was wrong with the silence.
He turned back to the room. There, on the nightstand, lay his phone. Still real. Still glowing faintly.
Ren hesitated, then picked it up. The screen flickered, but the battery icon hadn't changed. 67%, still. The unknown number was gone from his call history... erased, as if the conversation had never existed.
His throat went dry.
"How did my phone come here?...Maybe it was a dream, but that music-" he whispered, though the sound of his own voice didn't convince him.
He decided to explore.
The door creaked open with the weight of time. Dust motes danced in the light. The hallway beyond stretched long and elegant... lined with old portraits and mirrors clouded with age. The paintings stared down at him with faces too lifelike, their eyes following him as he walked.
A faint sound... the shuffle of something distant... echoed through the corridor.
Ren froze.
"Hello?"
Only the creak of old wood answered.
He swallowed, his pulse quickening, but curiosity pulled him forward. He passed a series of tall doors... all closed... until one stood slightly ajar. Inside, he found a library.
It was vast, walls swallowed by shelves reaching toward the ceiling, filled with books whose spines had faded to colors that looked like bruises... gray, red, black, blue. Dust coated everything, yet the table in the center was strangely clean. On it lay a porcelain teacup, half full, steam still curling faintly from the rim.
Ren stepped closer. His heart began to race again.
The tea was warm.
Someone had just been here.
He turned sharply, expecting movement behind him... but the room was still. Only his reflection stared back from the glass door of the bookshelf: pale skin, dark hair, and eyes too wide, too uncertain.
And then he saw it.
Behind his reflection... for the briefest flicker... the shape of someone standing just over his shoulder.
He spun around.
Nothing.
Just dust. Light. Silence.
Ren exhaled shakily and backed away from the glass. His hand brushed against a book near the edge of the table. It fell open, spine cracking softly.
A name written inside, in careful black ink:
"Property of L."
The ink was old, but not faded. The page smelled faintly of cedar and something darker... the same scent that had lingered on his sheets last night.
He shut the book quickly and placed it back, palms damp.
Outside the window, clouds were gathering again, shadows crawling over the garden. Ren moved toward the hall. His stomach growled softly... hunger reminding him that he hadn't eaten since yesterday. He found what looked like a kitchen at the end of the corridor... polished marble counters, an untouched stove, plates arranged neatly as if waiting.
When he opened the fridge, he expected it to be empty.
It wasn't.
Neatly stacked containers filled the shelves. Fruits, vegetables, bottles of milk, even bread wrapped in plastic. Fresh. New. Someone had stocked it recently.
Ren frowned, an uneasy thought stirring.
Who would do that? Who even owned this place? did that man stocked it before dropping me here? i'll call him after eating something"
He grabbed a slice of bread, chewed mechanically, and tried to steady his thoughts. The silence of the house wasn't empty... it felt full. Listening.
When he turned to place the wrapper down, he saw something that made his blood run cold.
On the kitchen counter, next to the sink, lay a single petal... dark red, like a drop of blood dried to silk.
Ren picked it up. The texture was soft, almost warm. A faint scent rose from it... smoky, familiar.
The same scent that clung to his pillow last night.
He dropped it, heart pounding.
"Who are you?" he whispered into the quiet.
No answer.
But the air around him seemed to breathe again, a faint draft brushing the back of his neck. He turned... too late... as the chandelier above the dining table flickered once, twice, before dimming to a dull, amber glow.
The lights stayed that way... soft, trembling... as if responding to something unseen.
Ren backed away, chest rising and falling fast. He grabbed his jacket and ran toward the main door, desperate for the world outside, for sunlight and noise and people.
The door didn't move.
He pulled again, harder.
Locked.
"Come on!" He kicked it, panic spreading like wildfire. The handle rattled, but the lock didn't budge.
He stumbled back, chest heaving. "Let me out!"
No reply. Only the creaking of the old house, like distant laughter.
And then... from the top of the staircase... a whisper.
"Why do you want to leave?"
Ren froze.
The voice was calm. Too calm. The same deep tone he'd heard through the phone.
His knees nearly gave out. Slowly, he lifted his gaze toward the staircase. The landing above was cloaked in shadow, but he could see the faintest outline of someone... tall, motionless, the air around him shimmering faintly.
The man?... or whatever he was... said nothing else.
He simply stood there, watching.
Ren's lips parted, but no sound came out. His fingers dug into the fabric of his jacket, heart thundering.
The figure tilted his head slightly, as if studying him.
Then, with a sound like the exhale of smoke, he was gone.
Ren stumbled backward until his back hit the door. He stayed there, shaking, eyes locked on the empty staircase.
For a long time, he didn't move.
Only when the clock in the hallway struck once... a deep, hollow sound... did he finally sink to the floor.
His reflection in the glass door stared back at him... small, pale, lost... and on his neck, the mark seemed darker, its lines spreading slightly, as though something beneath the skin had begun to wake.