The next morning, I woke up before Claire.

  For a moment, I lay still, staring at the ceiling. The house was quiet—too quiet. The kind of quiet that made time feel slow and heavy.

  Two weeks.

  Two weeks inside the same walls.

  That wasn’t healthy.

  I sat up and glanced at my hand. The mark was unchanged—the human figure still clear and steady. No cross.

  I dressed quietly and stepped into the hallway. The framed photographs were still there. I paused in front of one—Rey and Claire, smiling, frozen in time.

  I didn’t feel anger when I looked at it.

  Just distance.

  Still, something stirred as I stared longer, a faint pressure behind my eyes. Not a full memory—more like the echo of one.

  Claire stood in front of me, her hands clenched together.

  “I don’t need you to promise anything,” she said softly. “Just… don’t disappear.”

  The memory felt warm and distant, like sunlight filtered through glass.

  “I won’t,” I had replied without hesitation. “Even if I change… I’ll still stay.”

  The feeling faded before I could hold onto it, leaving behind a dull ache in my chest.

  From the bedroom, I heard Claire stir.

  “Kai?” Her voice was quiet, still wrapped in sleep.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “I’m here.”

  She appeared a few minutes later, hair slightly messy, her expression cautious but gentle. “You’re up early.”

  “I’m going outside today.”

  Her posture stiffened for just a moment. “Outside… alone?”

  “Yes.”

  A pause followed. Then she nodded.

  “Okay.”

  The ease of her answer surprised me.

  “I’ll be back before evening,” I said.

  She smiled faintly. “You don’t have to reassure me.”

  “I know you were worried.”

  “I was,” she admitted. “But you can’t stay locked in here forever.”

  The word lingered between us.

  Locked.

  I stepped toward the door.

  “Kai.”

  I turned.

  “If you feel uncomfortable… call me.”

  Not a command.

  Not control.

  Just concern.

  “I will.”

  And for the first time in two weeks, I stepped outside alone.

  The air felt sharper, wider. The world moved on at its own pace, indifferent to my hesitation.

  People passed me without a second ?.

  For some reason, that unsettled me more than being noticed would have.

  I slowed my steps.

  That was when I stopped in front of a bar.

  “Early Night.”

  The two words were plastered across a large billboard mounted above the entrance. The sign flickered faintly despite the sun still hanging in the sky. The building itself looked older than the surrounding shops—dark brick walls, narrow windows, the kind of place that seemed to hold stories it didn’t openly share.

  It felt slightly out of place.

  Or maybe I did.

  I stared at the entrance for a moment longer.

  This seems like a good place to make friends.

  I decided wholeheartedly after a moment.