Summary: Inside the museum, the criminals begin to realize they are not alone.
The guard did not look up again.
Whatever had made that faint sound above him—whatever had shifted in the darkness—he chose to ignore it. Some instincts told you to fight. Others told you to run.
This one told him something far worse.
Don't confirm it.
So, he turned quickly, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste, and stepped inside the museum. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind him with a loud clang that echoed through the corridor far longer than it should have.
The sound didn't just bounce.
It lingered.
For a brief moment, no one spoke.
Then the rest of the group followed.
Inside, the air felt… wrong.
It wasn't just cold. It was still—as if the building itself had been sealed off from the rest of the world for far too long. The faint red emergency lights flickered on one by one, casting dim, uneven illumination across the hallway.
Glass display cases lined both sides.
Ancient masks stared outward.
Blades rested silently behind reinforced panels.
Statues loomed further ahead, their shapes distorted by shadow.
Everything looked… like it was watching.
"Close it," Jemo said without turning.
The guard swallowed and quickly locked the door, his fingers trembling just enough to betray him. When he stepped back, Jemo gave him a brief glance—nothing more—before shifting his attention forward again.
"Move."
They advanced together.
Closer than before.
No one strayed from the group this time.
Even the ones who had laughed outside now stayed within arm's reach of each other.
Their boots echoed softly against the marble floor, each step carrying farther than it should have.
Too clean.
Too loud.
"…why is it so quiet?" one of them whispered.
"Soundproof walls," another replied, though his voice lacked conviction. "High-end place."
"…yeah."
But he kept glancing around.
They passed the first row of displays.
One of the men slowed slightly, his gaze lingering on a cracked ceremonial mask. For a moment, he frowned.
Something about the reflection in the glass felt off.
He blinked.
It was normal again.
"…nothing," he muttered, picking up his pace.
"Keep moving," Jemo said.
They moved deeper.
The hallway stretched farther than expected, the dim lighting making distances difficult to judge.
Then—
click.
Everyone froze.
"…you heard that?" someone whispered.
No one answered.
They didn't need to.
Jemo raised his hand.
Hold.
Silence filled the space.
Even their breathing felt too loud.
Behind them.
Something moved.
A shadow slid across the wall.
Fast.
Gone.
"Who—?!" one of them snapped, raising his gun.
Nothing.
No footsteps.
No sound.
Jemo didn't turn.
He listened.
"Closer," he said.
They tightened their formation immediately.
Now they were too close—shoulders brushing, movements restricted.
Bad positioning.
But none of them cared.
One of the younger men kept glancing upward.
Again.
And again.
"…stop that," someone whispered harshly.
"I saw something—"
"You saw nothing."
"I'm telling you—"
He stopped mid-sentence.
Because this time—
he saw it clearly.
A shape.
Clinging to the wall above them.
Not standing.
Not hanging.
Attached.
At an angle no human body should be able to hold.
His breath caught.
"…there—"
It vanished.
No movement.
No drop.
No sound.
Just—
gone.
"Where?" someone demanded.
"…right there!"
"There's nothing—"
Jemo turned slowly.
Looked up.
Held his gaze there longer than anyone else.
Nothing.
But his expression changed.
Just slightly.
"…keep moving."
They obeyed.
No hesitation now.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Every movement felt watched.
Then—
tap.
Above them.
Clear.
All heads tilted upward—
Too late.
Because in the reflection of a glass display—
Something stood behind them.
Tall.
Still.
Head tilted slightly.
Watching.
No face.
No sound.
Just presence.
Then—
gone.
No one turned around.
No one spoke.
Because now—
they all understood.
And without realizing it—
they had walked straight into someone's hunt |
[End of Part 3]