In the meantime,
while the scorching sunlight beat down on the heads of passersby,
Ethan held his coffee cup in one hand and leaned on his cane with the other.
And behind him, eight feet away,
Zara walked along the buildings,
following him cautiously, her hazel eyes fixed on him from behind as she muttered,
"There's something wrong…
How can someone who was shot and witnessed a massacre be in this mental state?"
Zara quickened her pace so she wouldn't lose him, closing the distance to seven feet.
At that moment, Ethan stopped walking—his whole body freezing as if he'd seen a ghost.
Zara's body jolted; her shoulders twitched backward with a shiver, and without thinking, she pressed her back against the nearest car.
"D-D-Did he see me?!"
she whispered to herself in panic.
She peeked out slightly to see what was happening.
Ethan had started moving again, stumbling, walking like a madman, one hand gripping his cane and the other rummaging hysterically through his pocket.
Zara stepped out from behind the car, her heart beating slowly… yet powerfully.
She furrowed her brows in confusion and muttered,
"Did he see me?
No… he's not looking back. Something else is happening."
And at that moment, the world was turning darker in Ethan's eyes.
His heartbeat was speeding up, pounding like a drum.
He looked around in terror until his gaze landed on a dim alley beside him, where black smoke began creeping out slowly.
The air grew colder, and breathing became harder with every second that smoke drew near.
Ethan muttered to himself, trying to ignore the vision,
"I-I just… need my meds!"
The smoke crawled closer and closer, and the moment it touched him—
GRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!
A devastating roar mixed with a female scream crashed into his ears like thunder.
He clutched his head, hands over his ears from the sheer intensity of the sound. His head shook violently from side to side, and breathing became suffocating.
"Not now!!
Not… now!"
His left hand moved wildly inside his jacket pocket.
He pulled out a yellow pill bottle, opened it quickly—froze—his eyes widening.
The bottle…
empty.
Ethan threw it to the ground violently and started running despite the injury in his thigh.
Zara rushed toward the empty bottle.
She picked it up, and before she even examined it, Ethan had already run far ahead.
She shoved the bottle into her backpack quickly, hurried after him, and muttered in confusion,
"What the hell is happening to him?!"
After five minutes of nonstop running and pain,
Ethan reached his house.
He slammed the door open and ran like a man possessed through the rooms toward his own.
"You're not my brother! You're a monster!!"
Ethan's nose began bleeding, and the air in the room grew heavier with each voice echoing around him.
"Where did you put them?!"
he shouted in fear, pacing around his room like a madman.
As his eyes darted around the corners with frantic speed, he noticed a yellow glint atop his wardrobe.
He spun toward it.
The pill bottle was wrapped with black tendrils pouring from every direction until they swallowed it whole.
Ethan grit his teeth and shook his head violently.
"HUFF—Huff… No!!"
He drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself,
closed his eyes tightly and whispered,
"No other choice."
Immediately, Ethan hurled himself toward the center of the shadows.
AAAAHH!!
Please!
You're a killer!!
Each scream tore him from the inside out.
His hand finally reached the bottle by a miracle.
He opened it and devoured the pills greedily, like someone who found a desert oasis.
Meanwhile, outside the house, Zara slipped in through the back door.
She crept like a cat, the home neatly organized in a professional manner—but none of that mattered.
She followed the sounds of crashing and frantic movement until she reached Ethan's room.
She slowly poked her head in.
Ethan was inhaling the pills like a madman.
One pill rolled toward her foot.
She picked it up and pocketed it quickly.
Ethan collapsed onto the floor.
His breathing slowly returned to normal.
He let out a long exhale, closed his eyes, and muttered in exhaustion,
"Note to self… last bottle. Meaning… time to call Gabriel for another supply."
Zara furrowed her brows, looked at Ethan's condition, and whispered,
"Why was he acting like a lunatic over these pills?"
Before she could back away—
Vrrrmmm… brrr… khhhht.
A car engine stopped outside.
The front door opened slowly.
Zara's heart dropped into her stomach.
She searched around frantically, darted into the kitchen, slid under the table, curled up, and clamped her hands over her mouth.
Footsteps… leather shoes tapping lightly on the floor.
She lifted the tablecloth slightly—
Gabriel walked in through the front door.
His steps almost military.
His silver hair slicked back.
His expression cold, lifeless.
"Hmph!!"
Zara let out a muffled squeak without meaning to.
Its echo vibrated through the room.
Gabriel paused.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
He turned toward the kitchen… slowly.
Zara shrank back until she nearly fused with the wall.
Her heart pounded harder with each step.
Gabriel stopped right in front of the table, scanning the area with his eyes.
He stepped forward again—
but then:
"Boss! I need you for something important!"
His foot halted mid-air.
He turned, cast one last glance at the quiet kitchen,
his jaw loosened slightly,
and he walked toward Ethan's room saying,
"I'm coming."
"Haaah…"
Zara sighed in relief.
She lifted the cloth and crawled out.
As she reached the back door—she stopped.
She turned her head slightly to listen.
"You fired without thinking."
"Come on! You planned the whole thing."
"I told you to scratch yourself, not shoot directly at the center."
Zara gasped aloud by accident.
"What was that?"
Gabriel's voice came from the room.
And in that instant, everything in her mind screamed: run.
And she ran, sprinting down the street.
Once she was far enough from Ethan's house, she leaned against a building wall, panting, and shouted,
"Who the hell are these people?!"
She reached into her pocket and opened her hand.
A dull white pill sat between her fingers.
She studied it and asked,
"It doesn't look like drugs…
So… what is it?"
She put the pill back in her pocket.
Minutes later, she arrived at the pharmacy near her home.
Zara stepped inside wearily. The smell of disinfectants and medicine rushed into her nose.
The polished floor was reflective enough to nearly mirror her face as she approached the pharmacist.
She cleared her throat.
The pharmacist looked up at her and asked,
"Can I help you?"
Zara exhaled,
pulled the empty pill bottle from her bag, handed it to him gently, and asked,
"Please… can you tell me what kind of medicine this is?"
He smiled kindly, adjusted his glasses,
and said,
"Of course."
He examined the bottle, flipping it between his hands.
His brows furrowed in confusion.
He handed it back.
"Sorry… there's no label. I can't identify it."
Zara's eyes widened briefly, then dimmed.
She looked down at her pocket and said,
"I have… one pill of it.
Can you at least identify that?"
He opened his mouth to refuse,
but when he saw the sadness in her face, sympathy softened him.
"A-Alright… I think I can."
Her eyes glimmered with sudden joy.
She took out the pill and placed it firmly in his hand.
"Really?!
Here it is—please, tell me what it is!"
The pharmacist brought the pill close to his eyes, examined it briefly, then popped it into his mouth.
Two seconds later, his eyebrow lifted in amusement.
He swallowed and said with a smile,
"HAH!
It's a starch tablet. Good for your stomach."
Zara tilted her head in confusion.
"Wait… what?!"
"Yes, starch. Not really useful, but it helps the digestive system."
Zara shook her head in disbelief.
"He was taking them like a madman!
There's no way it's starch!"
The pharmacist smiled kindly, turned toward a shelf of medicine,
pulled out a yellow bottle filled with white tablets, and said,
"See?
Same bottle as yours.
Here, check for yourself."
Zara took the bottle, looked at both,
and they truly were identical—same color, same pills.
She frowned and handed it back.
Exhausted, she walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned and said dully,
"Thank you, sir… have a nice day."
Minutes later, Zara lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, asking herself,
"Starch tablets?
Then why was he taking them like a maniac?"
She grabbed her phone, scrolling aimlessly when—
BAM-BAM-BAM!!
"ZARA! Open the door! Now!"
"AAHH!"
Zara jumped in fright.
She walked toward the door slowly, and the moment she opened it—
WHAMMM! … KRRREEEkkk!
The building owner barged in violently.
Zara stepped back two paces and stuttered,
"M-M-Mr. George?
Is there a problem?"
Mr. George's wrinkled face tightened as he barked,
"Rent!
You're ten days late, young lady!"
"Yes, but—"
"SHH! I don't want excuses.
Out… now!"
"Mr. George, please."
"Out before I call the police!"
Zara opened her mouth, then closed it.
She nodded slowly.
Her body trembled.
Her eyes welled with tears.
She turned toward her closet and whispered,
"Alright, Mr. George… I'll pack and leave."
Mr. George smiled proudly, headed toward the door, and said cheerfully,
"You have one hour. After that, I'll toss your things into the street!"
BAMMM! … CLACKkk!
When the door shut, Zara collapsed to her knees.
Her muffled sobs echoed through the room.
Two hours later, Zara was dragging her suitcase along the sidewalk.
She whispered in a broken voice,
"Where am I supposed to go now?"