Chapter 4 – And Then It Looked Back
Morning came without warning.
I didn't notice the sun until its light had already crept halfway up the concrete wall beside me. I hadn't slept—not really. My eyes had shut, but my mind stayed pressed against the edges of something I couldn't name. Not fear. Not pain. Just pressure. Like something in the air was vibrating, waiting for me to breathe too deep.
My hoodie stuck to my skin. My ribs ached less. My hands trembled more.
I couldn't remember the last time I had spoken out loud.
Or the last time someone had looked at me like I was a person.
I peeled myself off the pavement, dusted off the glass shards from under my back, and walked. I didn't know where. I just followed the sound of the city until it started to drown out the pulse in my ears.
By noon, I'd found a bridge. Cracked. Graffiti-tagged. A space underneath it that reeked of piss and mildew and cigarette ash. There were signs people used to gather here. Needles. Torn clothes. Scorch marks.
No one else now.
Just me.
Me, and a growing sense that I wasn't alone.
I sat down and tried to eat the last rice ball from the day before. It was warm. Not fresh—just warmed by being too close to my body all night. I bit into it anyway. It stuck in my throat, but I forced it down. I needed something in my stomach.
That's when I felt it.
A sound behind me, but not a sound. Like a breath. Wet and slow and too close.
I froze.
Didn't turn. Didn't blink.
Just listened.
My breath caught halfway out of my chest.
It was real.
Something was there.
Watching me.
I turned.
Nothing.
But the air was colder. And thicker.
My tattoo itched.
I stood slowly, eyes scanning the graffiti-dark walls. No movement. No shadows that didn't belong. But I could feel it in my spine—like a thread being pulled. Something was here, even if it didn't want to be seen.
I backed out from under the bridge.
And I ran.
I didn't know what I was running from, but I knew if I stayed, I wouldn't get another chance.
The city blurred around me. Streets. Cars. Fences. Alleyways too narrow for trucks and too quiet for birds. I ducked into one and pressed my back to a wall.
That's when I heard it again.
Not footsteps.
Not breathing.
Just... presence.
Like a hole in the world had opened, and something ancient was pouring through it drop by drop.
I turned to look.
And this time, there was something there.
A shape.
Not quite human.
Not quite solid.
It flickered—like a shadow seen through water.
It had a head. Shoulders. Something like arms. But where its face should've been was just a black smear, rippling like smoke caught in glass.
I didn't breathe.
I couldn't.
The thing didn't move.
But I knew if I stayed longer, it would.
I turned and ran again, lungs burning, feet slapping broken asphalt, tears stinging the corners of my eyes without permission.
Something chased me, but not with sound. With weight.
Every street I turned down felt heavier. The air bent wrong. The lights flickered twice before dying. Dogs barked and then fell silent.
I didn't stop until my legs gave out.
I collapsed near a rusted fence behind a shuttered bakery.
I vomited.
Not just from fear—from exhaustion. From hunger. From the weight of being too small in a world that suddenly felt so much larger.
And still, it watched.
I don't know how I knew.
But I did.
The thing hadn't followed me with its body. It didn't need to.
Part of it had stayed with me.
Clinging.
Nesting.
I curled in on myself and pressed my face to the ground, wishing I could disappear into it.
I stayed like that for hours.
Until the sun dipped low and the shadows began to stretch again.
That's when I heard a voice.
Not spoken.
Not outside.
Inside.
Just one word, low and vibrating with something awful.
"Thief."
My vision swam.
And I blacked out.
When I woke, it was night again.
My body ached.
But the thing was gone.
For now.
I sat up slowly, my throat dry and raw. The sky above was orange-tinted from the city's haze, and something distant howled—more human than wolf. I blinked hard, trying to hold onto what had happened, but the memory slipped like water through shaking fingers.
Still, my tattoo burned again.
Not hot.
Not cold.
Just… alive.
Something had changed.
And I knew without knowing that the world would never stop hunting me now.
Because whatever that thing was—
It had looked back.
And it had seen me.