The plate shattered like glass nerves snapping.

Noa stepped back into the living room, startled. “Mom?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes locked on the television screen — footage playing on loop: a man walking calmly through prison gates lined with broken bodies. Sirens wailed in the distance of the clip.

“That’s the man who… who killed the Torres family,” she whispered, the color drained from her face.

Noa blinked, the name vaguely familiar. “The neighbors? That was over a decade ago, right?”

His father reached for the remote. “It’s nothing. Just an old nightmare.”

But his mother remained frozen, lips pale. “He’s out again.”

Later that night, in the quiet hum of the kitchen:

“He believed death gave him life,” she said, not really speaking to anyone. “He said if he killed someone… he got their remaining years. Their youth. Their health.”

She paused, staring out into the night. “He looked at the Torres children like... offerings.”

[ Interlude — The Killer’s Eyes ]

He moved through the concert arena disguised as crew. Laminated pass, black gloves, fake earpiece.

Thousands of them packed in like cattle under lights and bass. He felt giddy, drunk off proximity.

Every heartbeat in the crowd was a candle flickering.

And he would blow them out.

“I am the vessel,” he whispered to himself. “Their time is borrowed. I collect the debt.”

He slipped between aisles, unnoticed, a phantom in a blood-orange vest. Each victim was chosen carefully — young, vibrant, glowing with life. The kind that would keep him alive.

The killings started like whispers. Sharp, fast, clean.

No one even realized.

Yet.

The Calm Before

Noa met Kael and Lira under the glow of the buzzing streetlamp. The air was warm with summer and the city’s usual rhythm.

Kael practically bounced. “I swear, if this concert doesn’t melt my face off, I’m filing a complaint.”

Noa chuckled. “It’s a music festival, not a war zone.”

“I can hope,” Kael grinned, then elbowed Lira. “You’re awfully dressed up for Noa’s benefit, huh?”

Lira rolled her eyes, but her blush gave her away.

She wore a sleek navy dress, shorter than her usual, with off-shoulder sleeves and a quiet shimmer that caught every bit of light. Not flashy — but intentional. Her hair curled just enough to look effortless.

Noa blinked. “You look… really good.”

“Thanks,” she said, voice soft, smiling just for him. “I wanted tonight to be memorable.”

In the Arena

The concert roared. The crowd was a living ocean, bodies pulsing to the music.

Kael vanished somewhere toward the front, already lost in the storm of beats.

Lira and Noa stayed back in the seats, sharing headphones between songs before the live act. At one point, the lights dimmed, and the music hit a lower, gentler groove.

Lira pulled her knees up into her seat beside him. Noa shifted slightly — her bare thigh brushing against his hand.

She didn’t move away. Instead, she leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes closed, swaying gently.

Noa froze for a moment, then let his hand rest where it landed. A quiet connection between the rhythm, the crowd, and the warmth of her.

“Do you ever feel like… music holds something inside you together?” he murmured.

“All the time,” she replied. “Especially when I’m with you.”

It Begins

Sirens cut through the final track. The voice over the PA was shaky.

“This is not a drill. Please evacuate in an orderly—”

Panic hit like a ripple turned tsunami. People screamed. Some ran. Others froze.

Security swarmed the entrances.

“Noa!” Kael’s voice was somewhere distant.

“I’ll find him!” Lira shouted, slipping away before he could stop her.

[ Kael’s POV – Two Minutes Earlier ]

Kael had always been good at reading a room — or a riot.

The moment the second siren blared, he was already moving toward the back gates. He turned once to see if Noa and Lira were behind him, but the crowd crushed between them.

“I’ll meet you outside!” he texted.

No signal.

He cursed and kept going, pushing past a security line.

The Corridor

Lira moved quickly, ducking between panicked groups. “Kael?” she called, thinking she’d seen him slip past the back hallway.

But it wasn’t him.

Someone was there. A man in a blood-spotted vendor’s vest, just watching her.

“You need to leave, it’s not safe!” she said, stepping closer, thinking he was just frozen by fear.

He turned slowly. His expression was too calm. Too quiet.

Lira’s smile faded. “Sir?”

He took a step forward. She took one back.

He didn’t speak — just raised one hand and pressed a finger to his lips.

She turned to run.

Too late.

His hand closed around her mouth, pulling her back into the dark.

Her scream never made it past his fingers.

The corridor lights flickered, then died.