Identified 

Nero street — 9:00 P.M.

It was the kind of winter night where it should have been snowing, but wasn’t.

The cold sat in the air, unmoving. Not biting—just there, pressing in. He breathed out. A pale cloud appeared and vanished. 

Even with the jacket pulled tight, the chill found its way through. His hands felt stiff, slow, like they didn’t fully belong to him as he slipped them into his pockets.

The street was quiet.

No wind. No footsteps. Just the cold and the sound of his own breathing.

A two-floor detached house waited ahead.

He stopped in front of it. Let the cold settle. Let the moment stretch.

Then—

Knock. Knock. On the red door.

The sound lingered—until footsteps on wooden floorboards answered from inside.A woman in her thirties opened the door.

"Ah—you must be Nilo,” she said.

“Yes. I came to babysit your son,” he replied, pulling a smile onto his frozen face.

“Come on in,” she said, stepping aside. “It’s cold out there. I’ll turn the heating on.”

“Thank you,” he said.

Warm air brushed against his face as he stepped inside. He bent down and removed his shoes, his fingers still slow, still numb from the cold.

“I’m surprised Dr. Kareef managed to get you on such short notice,” the woman said. “Do you work as a babysitter?”

“Not really. We’re family friends,” he replied, taking a seat in the living room. “I basically grew up with his son.”

“Ah, that’s reassuring,” she said, closing the zipper of her bag.

“Ozgur!” she called out.

A five-year-old boy appeared in the doorway.

“This is my son. He’s very obedient,” she said, kissing his forehead and patting his hair.“And make sure you put him to bed by ten. He took a nap today, so it’s fine if it’s a little late. Just—no TV and no snacks.”

She left, and they sat in the living room.

“Are you going to kill me?” Ozgur asked, looking straight at him.

“Where did that come from?” He was clearly shocked by the question.

“My book says babysitters work for an evil granny,” Ozgur said, handing him the book.

“Ah—you shouldn’t be reading this,” he said, lightly tapping the boy’s head with the book. 

“And you’re so young… you can already read?”

“Yes. I’m going to be a doctor like Mother,” Ozgur said, placing the book back onto the pile.

It wasn’t just the determination that surprised him—it was the way the child said Mother, not Mom or Mommy. 

They went to Ozgur’s room. He switched off the light.

“We still have thirty minutes. Mother said I can stay up until ten.”

“Okay, smarty pants,” he said. “What do you want to do?”

“Read me a book,” Ozgur said, handing him one.

The title made him pause.

'The Spirit of the Knife Phantom.'

What the hell… he thought. How is a kid even allowed to have something like this?

He began the story.

On a land nearby… she comes.

Knocking on doors… she comes.

Knock. Knock.

Ozgur’s little voice added, calm, almost rehearsed:

“She waits for the ones who peek.”

He blinked raising his eyebrows. “Peek?”

Ozgur’s eyes glinted in the dim light.

“Those who peek… she finds them. Always.”

Knock. Knock.

This time, the sound actually happened, interrupting their focus.

Ozgur shrugged. “Don’t open the door. Mother says the neighbor… the uncle… he comes drunk and mistakes the door.”

He exhaled, trying to steady himself.

“Of course… it’s just a story,” he said.

Ozgur smiled faintly.

“Stories are real… if you let them be.”

He continued.

On a land nearby… she comes.

By opening the windows… she comes.

By leaving black traces… she comes.

His patience ran out.

“What kind of story is this? Don’t you read about how the prince saves the princess?”

“What’s the fun in that?” Ozgur said, lying down on the bed.

“Please continue—the good part is yet to come,” he pleaded, making a cute face.

“Fine…”

On a—

The window blasted open, snowflakes swirling inside.

They both froze.

Just a story… he told himself, once again.

“The lock… it’s loose,” Ozgur said, his voice low, heartbeat quickening.

“Must be,” he replied, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat.

He stepped closer to the window, hands gripping the sill, trying to steady himself.

Finally, he closed the window. The latch clicked into place, but the cold lingered, seeping into the edges of the room.

On a—

This time, the story was cut short.

From downstairs came footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.

Then—a soft thud, like something heavy had fallen.

He froze.

“Does… the neighbor have keys?” he asked, voice low.

“No,” Ozgur said simply, lying back on the bed. His small eyes glinted in the dim light.

He took a deep breath. “I’m… I’ll go check.”

Ozgur’s lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to be alone.”

He hesitated for a second, then bent down and scooped the boy into his arms.

“Okay. Then we’ll go together.”

Holding him close, he stepped toward the stairs.

Each stair groaned and cracked beneath them, echoing through the empty house like a warning.

The air felt heavier with every step, colder, as if the shadows themselves were pressing in.

He could hear his own heartbeat, the boy’s small trembles against his chest, and something in the silence whispered—they were not alone.

He flipped on the living room light.

The huge window that led to the garden was wide open.

Across the floor were massive black footprints, smeared like they had crawled from the 

shadows themselves.

They froze.

Their own heartbeats thundered in their ears.

Sweat ran down his forehead, cold and hot at once.

Then—the footsteps started again. Drumming, closer, faster, filling the room.

And just as suddenly… it stopped.

Behind them.

11 A.M. — Morning, Flower shop 

Sirius and Lihar made their way to the flower shop.

The shop was small and wooden. He stepped inside, closing his umbrella and shaking his coat like a little wet kitten.

Lihar, wearing a sleek waterproof jacket, simply pulled his hood off.

“Good morning,” said the lady at the counter.

They replied with a simultaneous nod.

Sirius began looking around.“What color sounds sincere?” he asked.

“Purple,” Lihar replied, staring at a bunch of fresh tulips.

“That’s just your favorite color, not for an apology purpose,” Sirius said, his tone tinged with disappointment.

“Is it for your wife?” the counter lady asked.

Lihar laughed softly. “He doesn’t have one.”

“I don’t want one,” Sirius muttered, moving toward a pair of yellow flowers—a pair that reminded him of summer breezes, fresher than words, warmer than a memory he could almost feel.

Just as he bent down to grab the only pair there, a lady reached for the same flowers.

They paused. Their eyes met for a fraction of a second, and then both silently stepped back.

The warmth he felt wasn’t from contact—it lingered in that quiet, shared moment.

“That’s the last pair, unfortunately,” said the counter lady.

“Sirius, let her have it,” Lihar said with a smirk.

Sirius gave him the biggest side eye. The one that shouted 'you traitor'.

“It wouldn’t be… of a gentleman if he didn’t.” She spoke in a respectful yet lightly striking manner.

Before Sirius could realise it, his lips turned into a smirk, and he felt a pink shade rising across his cheeks.

“How presumptuous of you to think that I am a gentleman.”

“I was confirming you aren’t,” she replied, without looking up.

From the back, Lihar’s mouth fell open. Woah.It was a miracle he didn’t let out a full scream—especially with a girl who could reply to Sirius like that.

“I suppose I shouldn’t cause a break with your beloved one,” she said, voice light but straight.

Sirius felt a twinge of embarrassment.

Lihar jumped in quickly.“It’s his for his father,” he said. “He’s single.”Sirius was buying it for Dr. Kareef as an apology.

“You should buy some chocolates as well,” she said as she started to leave.

“I’ll repay the favour,” Sirius said, looking over his shoulder.

She didn’t turn around—just nodded.

They left the flower shop, and Zoro stopped the car abruptly.

“Why aren’t you guys picking up?” he said, slamming his car door and striding toward them.

They had forgotten their phones in the car.

“Sorry—we…” Lihar started, but before he could finish—

Zoro grabbed Sirius by the shoulders.

“Brace yourself, Sirius Kareef, because… because…”

His voice wavered, tears forming as he looked at him.“I got a call from Nero Street. They found the body of a teen named…”

He gripped Sirius’s shoulders tighter.

“Named Nilo Debois.”