The cursor blinked.
On. Off. On. Off.
Ethan Lin stared at it like it might blink him out of existence if he looked away first.
The office was too quiet.
Not the peaceful kind. Not the kind that let you think. This silence had weight. It pressed against the glass walls, settled into the carpet, crawled under his skin.
11:42 PM.
Everyone else had already left.
Except—
Ethan frowned.
He hadn't heard the elevators.
Not once in the last ten minutes.
He slowly turned his head.
The hallway outside his cubicle was empty. Lights still on. Chairs pushed in. Monitors asleep.
Normal.
Too normal.
He exhaled, forcing a dry laugh under his breath.
"Get a grip."
Still, he didn't look back at the screen right away.
For a second—just one—he had the strange, creeping feeling that someone had been standing there.
Watching.
"Still at it, Lin?"
Ethan didn't flinch this time—but only because the voice broke the tension before it snapped him.
Miller stood by the elevators, coat over his arm, already halfway out of this place in both body and mind.
"Just finishing the Q3 projections," Ethan said. His voice felt rough, unused.
Miller checked his watch. "Man, the board doesn't even meet until Tuesday. Go home."
Ethan glanced at the screen. Then at the stack of files. Then back again.
"Yeah… I'll finish it."
Miller snorted. "Of course you will."
The elevator dinged.
"Don't forget to set the alarm," Miller added, stepping inside. "Security's tightening. Something about… incidents in the park."
Ethan looked up. "What kind of incidents?"
"Animal attacks. Or weirdos. Who knows." Miller shrugged. "City's getting worse."
The doors slid shut.
Silence rushed back in.
He stared at the blank hallway again.
"…Like always."
By the time Ethan stepped outside, the city had already changed.
Up above, the skyline still glittered—clean, distant, unreal.
Down here, everything felt wrong.
The air was damp. Heavy. The kind that clung to your throat when you breathed in.
The street was empty.
Too empty.
Ethan adjusted the strap of his laptop bag and started toward the subway, footsteps echoing sharper than they should.
Tap.
Tap.
He stopped.
The sound stopped with him.
Ethan frowned slightly, glancing over his shoulder.
Nothing.
Just a long stretch of sidewalk, dim streetlights, and a newspaper dragging itself across the pavement in the wind.
He let out a breath.
"Just tired."
He started walking again.
Tap… tap.
Not an echo.
Too uneven.
Too deliberate.
Ethan didn't turn this time.
His grip tightened around his keys inside his pocket, metal pressing between his fingers.
He picked up his pace.
The feeling came next.
That instinct.
That deep, animal warning buried somewhere older than logic.
Something was behind him.
Watching.
Closing in.
The wind shifted.
And suddenly—
The city smell disappeared.
No exhaust. No trash. No heat.
Only something sharp.
Cold.
Wild.
Pine.
Wet fur.
Blood.
Ethan slowed—just a fraction.
His pulse spiked.
That wasn't right.
That smell didn't belong here.
Movement.
Left side.
The alley.
Ethan's head turned before he could stop it.
A shadow peeled itself off the wall.
Not stepped.
Not walked.
Detached.
It had the shape of a man—but something about it felt wrong. Too fluid. Too still at the same time.
The figure leaned there in the darkness, hood low.
Waiting.
Ethan should've kept walking.
That was the rule.
Don't look. Don't engage.
Survive.
But something held him there.
Not curiosity.
Not stupidity.
Something else.
Something pulling.
He stopped under the next streetlight.
Turned.
Looked.
The figure moved.
Slowly, it tilted its head back.
Not looking at him.
Not yet.
Its chest expanded—
And it inhaled.
Deep.
Controlled.
Hungry.
Ethan felt it.
Felt that breath like it was dragging something out of him from across the street.
The man stilled.
Then—
His head snapped forward.
Eyes locked onto Ethan.
Amber.
Bright.
Burning.
Not human.
A smile spread across his face.
Too wide.
Too sharp.
Too certain.
"There you are."
Ethan's keys slipped from his hand, clattering against the pavement.
He didn't pick them up.
Didn't think.
Didn't breathe.
He turned—
And ran.
The cold air tore into his lungs as he sprinted toward the subway entrance, footsteps slamming against the pavement—
Too loud.
Too fast.
Too—
Close.
He froze mid-stride.
Just for a second.
Because he heard it.
Not behind him.
Right beside him.
A voice.
Low.
Right at his ear.
"You smell even better when you're scared."