The bill arrived on a silver tray, placed delicately in front of Elias as if it were an offering rather than a financial gut-punch. His family, caught in mid-conversation, fell silent as they watched him open the leather folder. Their laughter evaporated, replaced by stunned, wide-eyed stares as Elias revealed the total: $1,532.78.

Emma let out a low whistle, leaning forward to get a better look. "Wow. You weren’t kidding about going all out."

His mom shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Elias, this is... This is a lot. Are you sure—?"

Elias waved her off with a grin that felt more confident than it was. "It’s fine, Mom. I told you, tonight’s on me."

His dad frowned, his skepticism cutting through the table’s dim candlelight. "You’re not putting this on credit, are you?"

Elias slid his card into the folder and handed it back to the waiter before anyone could protest further. "Relax, Dad. It’s covered."

The waiter gave a polite nod and disappeared into the elegant bustle of the restaurant. For a moment, the table was quiet, the weight of the number on the bill hanging in the air like an unwelcome guest.

"You’ve been holding out on us," Emma teased, breaking the silence. "Seriously, where’s this money coming from? Did you rob a bank?"

Elias laughed, but it felt hollow. "Freelance projects," he said vaguely, the lie rolling off his tongue like second nature. "Guess some people really like my designs."

His mom reached out, placing a hand on his. "We’re proud of you, Elias. This is... Well, it’s wonderful to see you doing so well."

The waiter returned, placing the folder on the table with a practiced flourish. "The payment went through. Thank you, sir."

Elias nodded, his relief hidden behind a calm smile. "Perfect. Thanks."

As his family rose to leave, Elias felt their pride radiating off them in waves, and for a moment, it dulled the ever-present unease in his chest. He’d done it—he’d given them a night to remember, a glimpse of the success they’d always hoped for. But as they stepped out into the crisp night air, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was walking a tightrope, and the ground below was impossibly far away.

Elias parted ways with his family near the restaurant’s entrance, waving them off as they climbed into their respective cars and cabs. His mom insisted on hugging him twice, her warm embrace leaving behind the faint scent of her perfume. Emma gave him a playful shove, her teasing remark about "splurging too much" softened by her genuine smile. Even his dad seemed impressed, clapping him on the shoulder and muttering a rare, "Good work, son."

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Alone now, Elias adjusted the strap of his bag and started walking. The restaurant wasn’t far from his apartment, just a ten-minute stroll through the city’s quieter streets. The night was unusually still, the hum of distant traffic muted by the surrounding buildings. Streetlights cast pools of yellowish light onto the pavement, but the shadows between them seemed darker than usual, stretching across the sidewalk like waiting hands.

Elias pulled his jacket tighter around him, his footsteps echoing faintly in the silence. The weight of the evening hung on his shoulders—not just the bill, but the effort of keeping up the facade. His family’s pride had been worth it, but now, in the solitude of the city, the lingering unease from the past few weeks crept back in.

As he turned down a narrow alley—a shortcut he’d taken a hundred times—his pace slowed. The alley felt different tonight, the familiar graffiti on the walls seeming to twist in the dim light, their shapes unfamiliar and wrong. The faint smell of damp concrete and garbage lingered in the air, but beneath it was something else—something metallic and sharp, like blood.

Elias shook his head, trying to push the thought away. You’re imagining things. It’s just a shortcut. You’ll be home in five minutes.

But the air felt heavier here, pressing against his chest with an almost physical weight. His footsteps grew louder, the sound bouncing off the walls and making it feel like someone was following him. He glanced over his shoulder, his pulse quickening, but the alley was empty.

He pressed on, his pace quickening as he approached the halfway point. The light from a single bulb above a backdoor flickered weakly, casting erratic shadows that seemed to move on their own. A faint breeze swept through the alley, carrying with it the faintest sound of... something. A whisper? A footstep? Elias couldn’t tell, but it set his nerves on edge.

"Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely louder than a whisper. But his hands were trembling now, his grip on his bag tightening as he walked faster.

The sound came again, closer this time—a soft rustling, like fabric brushing against brick. Elias froze, his breath caught in his throat. He turned slowly, scanning the alley behind him, his eyes darting from shadow to shadow.

Nothing.

He exhaled shakily, forcing himself to keep moving. The exit was just ahead, the faint glow of a streetlight marking the way back to the main road. He focused on it, his steps quick and deliberate, his heart pounding in his chest.

But as he neared the end of the alley, the air grew colder, the metallic tang sharpening in his nose. A low hum vibrated through the walls, barely audible but enough to make his teeth ache. He glanced back one last time, and for a split second, he thought he saw movement—a shadow too large, too deliberate to be his own.

He broke into a jog, the light of the streetlamp growing brighter with each step. The hum followed him, growing louder, more insistent, until it felt like it was inside his head. By the time he stepped onto the main road, his chest was heaving, his breath visible in the cold air.

The hum stopped.

The street was quiet again, the city’s familiar sounds slowly returning as Elias stood under the streetlamp, clutching his bag like a lifeline. He looked back at the alley, but it was still, the shadows as lifeless as the bricks they clung to.

Elias swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep walking. He didn’t look back again.