Ren stayed still for a long time, afraid that any movement would disturb whatever presence filled the air. He could hear his own breathing, sharp and uneven, the beating of his heart loud enough to drown the silence.
He glanced at the mirror across the room. The surface trembled faintly, not from wind, but from something inside the reflection itself. His own image flickered for a second, and he saw a shape behind him... faint, blurred, watching.
He turned around fast. Nothing. Only the faint shimmer of air, the residue of a shadow that wasn't there anymore.
His pulse wouldn't settle. He moved toward the balcony doors, pushing them open. The air outside rushed in, cool and almost metallic. The night had deepened, clouds gathering low, the city lights distant and fragile.
He looked up. The sky was bruised violet, the moon veiled. The rain had stopped but the scent of it lingered... clean, electric, heavy with the smell of stone and earth.
It was beautiful. Terrifyingly beautiful.
The garden below looked like a painting soaked in moonlight, everything glimmering faintly with dew. He could see the outline of the old fountain, the marble figures frozen in silent dance, water spilling from cracks like veins.
Ren leaned against the railing, eyes tracing the world below. For a brief moment, he felt peace. The fear melted into wonder. The wind moved through his hair, whispering through the leaves.
But then he remembered the phone call, the voice that knew his name, the words that wouldn't stop echoing inside his head: He's with you.
He pressed a hand against his chest, as if to still the panic.
"I don't understand," he whispered. "Who are you talking about? Who's with me?"
No one answered.
A soft creak came from behind him... wood shifting, the sound of the floor adjusting to unseen weight.
Ren turned sharply. The room was empty, but the curtains swayed though there was no wind. His reflection in the glass door caught his attention again. The light from outside hit it just right, showing the faint shimmer of something over his shoulder... a darker patch of shadow that didn't belong to him.
He swallowed hard and backed away from the door. The mark on his neck began to tingle again, not burning this time but pulsing, like a slow heartbeat.
He pressed his fingers against it, feeling warmth under the skin.
Then the air in the room shifted... a subtle change in pressure, a quiet hum that crawled across the floor. The book on the table trembled. The pages fluttered though the air was still.
Ren turned toward it.
The keyhole glowed faintly, the same red and violet light as his mark.
His breath caught.
He reached out slowly, fingertips hovering above the leather cover. The glow dimmed when his skin made contact, as if the book had recognized him.
"Do you… know me?" His voice was barely a whisper, the kind of question spoken more to the air than to any living thing.
He didn't expect an answer, yet something in the room shifted... a faint vibration beneath his feet, a whisper running through the walls.
He opened his hand. The cover stayed closed, but the hum inside grew louder, almost like a faint heartbeat syncing with his.
Ren closed his eyes, overwhelmed. His head ached; the rhythm in his neck matched the one inside the book.
He remembered the voice on the phone. You're safe here.
But safety shouldn't feel like this. It shouldn't make the walls breathe, or his own name sound foreign when he said it out loud.
He set the book down and stepped away, forcing himself to breathe slowly. The edges of his vision felt strange, colors deepening, corners darkening. It was as if the house had begun to tilt toward him, leaning closer.
He wanted to run, to escape, but the man's question still haunted him. Where will you go?
The truth sat heavy in his chest... he had nowhere.
Ren walked to the nearest chair and sat down, burying his face in his hands. For a long while, he didn't move. The quiet stretched on until the tension in his shoulders eased, exhaustion settling in its place.
When he finally lifted his head, the air had changed again. The light from the lamps was softer, warmer. He could smell something faint... the same cedar scent that had filled the library earlier.
He turned toward the hallway.
The shadow was there again, faint and fluid, standing near the staircase. It didn't move closer. It didn't retreat. It only watched him, its form shifting like smoke in the dim light.
Ren didn't scream this time. Fear had dulled into something else... confusion, maybe even acceptance. The house, the voice, the mark, the book... everything felt connected in ways he couldn't understand.
He took a careful step forward. The shadow didn't react.
"Are you the one he meant?" His voice trembled. "Are you the one who's… with me?"
The figure tilted its head slightly, as if it heard him. Then the lights flickered. The sound of wind swept through the open balcony doors, carrying a chill that reached his skin.
Ren felt the burning at his neck again... brief, sharp, then fading into a pulse of warmth.
The shadow moved, slow and soundless, until it stopped near the book on the table.
Ren watched in silence as the cover lifted on its own, just an inch. The air rippled.
Then everything stilled.
The shadow dissolved into smoke, leaving only the faint scent of cedar and the echo of a heartbeat that wasn't his.
Ren stood frozen, waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did.
He finally walked to the table, his legs unsteady. The book looked the same, closed and still. But when he reached for it again, his fingers brushed over something that hadn't been there before... a small, silver key resting atop the cover.
He picked it up. The metal was cold, the edges sharp, but it fit perfectly into the indentation on the side of the book.
Ren stared at it for a long time. He knew he should wait, that opening it might mean inviting something he couldn't control. But curiosity burned brighter than fear now.
He pressed the key into the lock. It turned with a soft click.
The sound echoed through the room like a whisper of breath.
Ren hesitated, his heart thudding in his throat. Then he slowly lifted the cover.
The first page was blank. The second too.
But when he turned to the third, the paper shifted under his fingers, ink rising to the surface like veins forming beneath skin.
Words appeared, written in that same delicate hand as before:
To the one who bears my mark, welcome home.
Ren's fingers went numb. He let the book fall shut and stumbled backward.
His reflection in the nearby mirror caught his eye again. The glow from his neck had spread faintly to his collarbone, tracing lines that mirrored the half-pattern on his skin... lines that now completed the shape.
The design was whole.
He didn't know what it meant, but the realization sank into him like cold water. The half mark had been waiting for something. For someone.
He pressed a hand to his neck, feeling the pulse beneath.
The wind moved through the room again, soft, almost kind. The curtains brushed against each other like sighs.
Ren felt it then... a quiet sense of being watched, not with malice but with something that almost resembled care. The fear in his chest loosened, replaced by a deep, strange sadness.
He whispered to the emptiness, "What do you want from me?"
For a moment, the house said nothing. Then, faintly, somewhere deep within its walls, came the low sound of a door opening.
Ren turned toward the noise, his heartbeat steady but cautious. The hallway beyond was darker now, the air thick with that same scent of cedar and rain.
He took one slow step forward.
The wind followed him, brushing against his skin in a way that felt almost like reassurance. His birthmark pulsed once, twice, and then stilled.
Ren whispered again, softer this time, "Who are you?"
The only reply was the faint creak of the floorboards and the lingering warmth of that unseen presence, like a promise waiting in the dark.
END OF THE CHAPTER.