The cracked bench groaned beneath Jason and Arnon, the heat of the fire still clinging to their skin. The adrenaline had ebbed, leaving behind the weight of unanswered questions.
Jason broke the silence. "So… super strength?"
Arnon lifted a brow. "Yeah. You?"
Jason shrugged, his scorched shirt barely holding together. "Same."
A pause. Then, with deadpan seriousness, Arnon asked, "Think we can lift a car?"
Jason's lips twitched. He glanced up.
They stared at each other—two men standing at the edge of something impossible.
Then, simultaneously, they nodded.
Because men are simple creatures.
---
The paramedics worked quickly—oxygen mask, cold compress, a brief check for burns. Katherine's eyes fluttered open, glassy but alive.
Jason leaned in, his voice light. "Hey. Back with us?"
A hoarse whisper. "Feel... like toast."
Arnon, dry as ever: "Crispy on the edges."
Despite the pain, she cracked a faint smile.
And opened her mouth—
A male voice echoed.
A voice, harsh and commanding, cut through.
The fire chief approached, his face a battlefield of anger and gratitude.
"You two!" he barked. "That was reckless! Suicidal!"
Jason met his glare with an exhausted, blank stare. "Yeah. You're welcome."
The chief's fists clenched at his sides. "You disobeyed orders. Compromised a rescue operation…"
He paused—then, with stiff reluctance, gave a sharp bow. "But you saved her. Thank you."
Arnon offered a half-shrug. "Did what anyone would."
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The chief's eyes hardened. "Not anyone," he said quietly. "You did more."
With the fire extinguished, the corporate gears ground into motion.
Business Continuity Management protocols deployed:
* Critical teams: Remote work.
* Impact assessment: Underway.
* Offices: Sealed for safety.
Meetings dragged. Reports flooded inboxes. The world spun on, indifferent to miracles.
The night air was cool, still carrying the faint ghost of smoke. Jason and Arnon walked in silence, side by side. No words needed.
Halfway home, they stopped.
Looked at each other.
A single, silent nod.
Simple.
---
The house smelled… experimental.
Elyse, chaotic as ever, stirred a pot in the kitchen with more confidence than skill. She had applied to Zetton University—the best in the city. Not that her brother would know.
Typical. He'd break a guy's nose for catcalling her but couldn't name her favourite colour.
Suddenly—
Jay, their half–German Shepherd, bolted to the front door—paws skittering, ears perked, and tail wagging furiously, spinning in excited circles.
The doorbell rang.
Elyse opened it—
Jason and Arnon stood there, bruised, battered—mirror images of each other, from soot-streaked faces down to matching scrapes.
Her eyes narrowed. "...Fell down some stairs together?"
Jason, deadpan: "Yup. We both fell. I won."
A beat.
Elyse's brow arched. "Huh?"
Arnon, smirking: "Bro, you hit the stairs last."
The night slowed. The three of them lounged together—Elyse sprawled on the couch, launching into her world: application essays, her hatred for trigonometry, her hopes, her nerves.
And Jason?
He listened. Truly listened. Not just the absent-minded nodding of an older brother—he asked questions, laughed at her jokes, let her world unfold.
And Elyse felt it. She felt seen.
--
Later, after Arnon had gone, Jason tucked Elyse into bed. Jay curled protectively at her feet, ears twitching even in sleep. Her face—soft in the moonlight—
He walked to the hall thinking to himself.
She wasn't a side character.
She had her own story.
Her own world.
Then—
A slow, steady hum echoed.
pressure—like a needle dipped in rot and decay for centuries—slithered up his spine.
The temperature—dipped and spiked in nauseating waves.
The walls—colors began to bleed, running like wet paint, streaking the room in shades that didn't belong—bitter, metallic, and cold. The floor rippled, the wood grain bending and twisting like muscle under skin.
A sound—crick-crick-crack—wet bones snapping, but not his.
A low, guttural hum—inhuman, vibrating his bones—filled the air.
His reflection—
Smiling.
But he didn't feel his lips move.
The smile twitched—unnatural. The head cocked to a side—too far, a sharp angle, the neck bending with a sickening pop.
The eyes—his eyes—rotted, black thar like thick and putrid fluid poured from the sockets, crawling down the glass like infected tears.
Then—
The reflection raised a hand.
Jason's stayed at his side.
The hand pressed to the glass—
And pushed through.
The window ruptured—like water—
The hand, his hand—too pale, too many joints in the fingers, nails cracked and splintered—emerged into his world.
A voice—his voice—whispered through gritted teeth.
"See you soon."
The hand snapped back—
The window sealed—smooth, perfect—
As if nothing had ever happened.
Except—
A handprint.
Black and Rotting with faint bumps across it that made it look like..
Like something had crawled up from beneath the earth.
And in the sudden silence—
A single, soft click.
The clock on the wall, frozen seconds before—
Resumed.
Ticking faster and faster.
And a humming sound continued.