"ENOUGH."

Meilin's lips parted, but no sound came out—just a choked wheeze as terror wrapped around her throat like a noose. The makeup remover bottle slipped from her hand.

Someone was watching her... watching her undress!

Her shrieks pierced his mind with a frequency that burrowed deep into his brain, reaching its core and shredding his soul.

Lungs fought for air. Hands scrambled for her tank top and yanked it over her head, almost strangling herself.

"Took you long enough," a deep, smooth voice murmured.

"WHO'S THERE!?" She grabbed the nearest thing—a hairbrush—and wielded it like a dagger. "I-I HAVE A WEAPON!"

'Dramatic, isn't she?' Ningshun tilted his head with a lazy smirk. 'How cute.'

As if he were the one at fault. As if he had trespassed into her world first, not the other way around. She had no idea. No idea what she was facing. No idea what she had taken was so important to him. And yet, she demanded answers. As if she were not the thief... The audacity.

'She thinks she holds the power.' He shook his head, half a chuckle, half a sigh.

He could correct that misunderstanding—easily.

A brief pause. A moment of consideration.

Meilin would recognize him. If she realized who he was—her soon-to-be teammate, the professional Mid Laner with a strong reputation, it would complicate matters. Pity. He would have quite enjoyed the idea of watching her stumble and try to piece it all together.

But who said he could not have a bit of fun toying with her? As long as she did not discern his looks.

'But first, the portal to the abyss.' Lightning emanated from his palms, creating a hovering disc—a black hole, no larger than his palm. 'Once I take back my power, I'll go to the end of the abyss... and from there—' A slow grin. 'The right portal—to Parishahr.'

"WHERE ARE YOU?" Wielding her hairbrush, she glanced behind the curtains. "D-Don't tell me it's... a ghost..."

With a smug look, Ningshun mused, 'Not a bad idea.' Then, he snapped his fingers, and the lights went out.

She swallowed, and a whimper slipped from her lips. Her breath came faster—shallow, uneven. The silence suffocated her.

"Boo."

"Ah!" Meilin screamed—a total, throat-shredding cry—and swung the brush wildly, only to hit nothing. "Wh-Who said that!?" Whatever it was, it stood just inches from her ear!

In an instant, he teleported away from her and tsked. "If that ridiculous brush is a weapon, then I suggest you learn how to use it."

From the shadows, a low chuckle. Smooth. Amused. Cruel.

She gasped. "Y-You're..."

"Not human? A ghost? Or perhaps a figment of your imagination?"

No—impossible. He sounded human. But how could he be so fast? Unless... Could this be a trick from a creepy fanboy? She glanced at the bed, searching for the phone she had last seen before the room went dark.

"I'd offer you a better view of my good looks, but it seems the lighting's a little... inconvenient for you. Shame, really. But go on, guess—I'm enjoying this."

Meilin had a deadpan look. "Hold up—should I be freaked out right now, or is this just you giving your ego a workout?"

Ningshun teleported again, reappearing near the images of Zayn, and her jaw dropped at the sound of him moving so fast. The worst part was... she heard no footsteps.

Oh no. What if he was telling the truth? What if he was not... human? A ghost! No, there was only one logical explanation: this had to be a dream. Nothing more. And yet, dream or not, he still made her legs tremble. Or was she just losing her mind?