I returned home as dawn approached.
The street was unusually quiet, as if the city had deliberately chosen to leave me alone in that moment. I stopped in front of the iron door and stared at it for a long time… the door I had opened thousands of times in my childhood, yet today it felt unfamiliar, as though it did not recognize me.
I went inside.
The house was empty.
Empty to a painful degree.
No footsteps. No faint kitchen light. No scent of my mother's coffee. No sound of my father reading in the next room. The walls were still in place, the furniture mostly unchanged, but the soul… was not here.
I walked slowly, as if afraid of waking someone.
Then I saw the photographs.
My father.
My mother.
An old picture of all of us together.
I didn't need to ask.
The silence was enough.
They died… and I was not here.
I wasn't present when they needed me. I wasn't a son — I was merely a shadow running after his new name, leaving everything behind.
I sat down.
I didn't cry.
But this emptiness was different… heavy, suffocating, unlike any emptiness I had ever known.
For the first time, I felt that I had returned far too late.
After a moment, I stood up.
I looked at the house with a familiar cold gaze.
This place would work for a crime.
A dangerous, cold thought crossed my mind without permission. An old habit. An old shadow that does not die easily.
But I did nothing.
I left the house before it could swallow me further.
Outside, the night still held the city in its grip. I walked aimlessly until I found myself on a side street near the place where I had collided with her.
And there… I saw her.
Sara was wearing a simple coat, a small bag over her shoulder, her hair loosely tied, clear signs of light exhaustion in her eyes — the exhaustion of someone who understands long nights.
"My shift just ended,"
she said, as if explaining her presence before I could ask.
"The emergency department doesn't sleep."
That explained everything.
We were near the old hospital, on a shortcut the staff usually took at dawn. A quiet road… too quiet.
Sara adjusted her bag on her shoulder, then took a deep breath as though shedding the weight of the night.
"Anyway…"
she said with a faint smile — the kind that didn't resemble the darkness around us.
"My shift is over, and it seems the city decided to test my patience today."
She laughed softly — genuine and brief — then gestured behind her toward the hospital road.
"I'll go this way. It's shorter."
She paused and looked at me with innocent curiosity.
"Try to smile more… life isn't worth all that frowning."
Then she turned and walked lightly, as if the night didn't frighten her — as if she were used to facing worse things in the emergency room.
I watched her walk away.
I didn't follow.
I didn't move.
But I didn't leave either.
After only a few steps, something changed.
The street she was walking down darkened suddenly — not because a light went out, but because someone entered the scene.
A man stepped out from the shadow of a parked car. His movement was quicker than it should have been, as if he had been waiting.
Sara stopped.
I heard his voice clearly:
"Miss… just a minute."
It wasn't loud.
And that made it more dangerous.
I saw her tighten her grip on her bag and respond in the formal tone of someone who works in a hospital:
"No, thank you."
She tried to pass him.
He reached out his hand.
At that moment… I moved.
I didn't shout.
I didn't run toward her.
I stepped into the shadow — and emerged from it at a point he did not expect. I was behind him before he realized someone else was on the street.
I placed my hand on his wrist.
Not forcefully… but firmly.
Near his ear, in a low, cold voice, I said:
"Take your hand away."
He turned, startled, trying to speak…
but my gaze stopped him first.
He saw something in my eyes he did not understand — but he felt it.
Something that said: don't.
He pulled his hand back quickly and stepped away.
"I… I didn't mean—"
I cut him off calmly:
"Leave."
I did not raise my voice.
I did not threaten him.
But his body understood before his mind did.
He turned and walked away quickly, disappearing at the first corner, as if he had never been there.
Sara stood there, her hand on her chest, breathing deeply.
She hadn't seen everything… but she saw me.
"You…"
she said softly.
"Why were you still here?"
I looked at her for a moment.
"This road at this hour… isn't safe."
She fell silent.
She looked at me for a long time — not playfully this time.
"Strange…" she said quietly.
"There's no fear in your eyes. But I believe you're a good person. You're just trying to hide something."
I didn't answer.
She turned and walked away again — faster this time, without laughing, without joking.
But before she disappeared, she said without looking back:
"I hope… I'm not wrong about you."
I remained standing.
I knew one thing:
If I hadn't intervened… the shadow would have done what it does best.
But this time…
I chose to be something else.
And Sara?
She began to feel that the person saving her from the darkness
might be part of it.
I stayed where I was until the last trace of her footsteps vanished.
The street returned to what it was — quiet, as if nothing had happened.
But something had changed inside me.
I did not return home.
I did not return anywhere.
I walked aimlessly, breathing the cold dawn air, watching the sky slowly free itself from the cloak of night. The light slipped in shyly, as if it did not wish to disturb the shadows that had grown accustomed to the place.
I sat on an iron bench near a small square.
I remained there… until morning asserted its presence.
People left for work, cars began moving, and the city's sounds returned to life. I was still wearing the night inside me, even as the sun rose.
At the first main street, I found a café that opened early. I went in.
The place was nearly empty.
The smell of fresh coffee filled the air, and cups clinked softly. I chose a table in the corner, my back against the wall — an old habit. I don't like anyone approaching from behind.
I ordered black coffee.
I was staring at the rising steam when I felt it… that sensation of being watched.
I slowly lifted my head.
He was right in front of me.
Not outside.
Not behind glass.
But directly before me, only a few steps away, standing as if he had been waiting for this moment for years.
I didn't need time to recognize him.
Some faces are unforgettable… because they witnessed the birth of your worst version.
Him.
The only person who doesn't just know my name…
The one who saw my transformation with his own eyes.
He didn't read about it in newspapers.
He didn't see it in police files.
He was there — the moment I chose darkness instead of returning.
His eyes were fixed on me. No surprise. No fear.
Only certainty.
He knows I am "Shadow Walker."
He knows the boy who once ran through the alleys died fifteen years ago.
And he knows who buried him.
He smiled faintly — coldly — as if our meeting wasn't coincidence.
As if the city had brought me back… only to place him in my path again.
That man is not just an enemy.
He is the only witness to my crimes.
The only one who knows how many nights I returned with my hands stained by silence.
The only one who knows that my transformation was not an accident… but a choice.
He stepped closer.
He said nothing… but he didn't need to.
My hand slowly slid toward the knife hidden beneath my coat.
A natural movement. Familiar.
A movement that required no thought.
The distance between us shrank.
The air grew heavier.
The city disappeared around us.
There was only one option left.
Him… or me.
I drew the knife.
The brief flash of the blade reflected in his eyes, but he did not step back.
He smiled wider.
"So you're still the same."
I was one moment away.
One moment… from cutting the space between two heartbeats.
From carving into his silence a wound that would never close.
The distance between us was narrower than the blade's width,
shorter than the thought of retreat.
My hand did not tremble.
Did not hesitate.
I knew the angle.
I knew the depth.
I knew where pain passes before sound arrives.
He knew it too.
His smile did not fade — it was not courage,
but certainty that he knew the monster before him.
I was one moment away from writing his final name with the edge of my knife—
Then—
The café door opened with a light force.
A familiar voice entered before I turned.
"Hey, frowning one?"
It wasn't a scream.
It was a question.
And the question… was more dangerous than any bullet.
Time froze.
The blade remained raised.
My enemy looked at me in a way that said:
"Now you choose."
Either I end what remains of his breath…
and with it, end every possibility that she might ever see my light again.
Or I drop the knife…
and admit that the shadow is no longer my only master.
For the first time…
killing was not the hardest decision.
Refraining was.
And in that second…
I was not afraid of my enemy.
I was afraid of my reflection in her eyes.