The morning after, Elion didn't go to the Department.
He dressed slowly, his movements stiff. The mirror still showed his reflection, but he could not stop glancing twice. Every time he blinked, he feared seeing the wrong face again.
He kept touching the spiral behind his ear. It was real—warm to the touch, faintly pulsing. No ink, no scar tissue, just… presence.
The city outside was quiet as always. Brell never truly woke, even at sunrise. Fog clung to the buildings like skin. Steam hissed from the vents in the cobblestones. Carriages creaked through alleys like whispering ghosts.
Elion walked aimlessly.
His mind was a tangle of thoughts he couldn't name. Sounds—no, impressions—brushed against his ears even though no one spoke.
When he passed a brass-lettered newsboy calling headlines, he heard no words. Only a distant bell tolling deep within his skull. Four chimes. Then silence.
He turned the next corner, into a narrow lane shadowed by cathedral towers. And that's when he saw it.
Someone was watching him.
At the end of the alley, half-hidden behind the fog, stood a man in a dark overcoat and wide-brimmed hat.
Still.
Unmoving.
Too still.
Elion stopped walking.
The man didn't.
He simply remained there—his posture perfect, face obscured by shadow. He could have been part of the wall if not for the slight movement of his coat in the breeze.
Elion blinked.
The man was gone.
No footsteps. No sound. Just emptiness where a presence had been.
Elion felt his throat tighten. He stepped backward, heart pounding. The spiral behind his ear began to throb gently, in rhythm with his panic.
He turned around and walked faster. Then faster still. By the time he reached the public tram, he was almost running.
The tram conductor barely looked at him. Just pointed toward an empty cabin.
He entered and sat.
Only then did he realize his hands were shaking.
He clutched his coat and lowered his head.
What is happening to me?
A low whisper brushed his mind.
You are being noticed.
He froze.
It wasn't the same voice from before.
This one was colder. Not inside him, but just outside. As if someone had leaned into his ear, just behind the glass.
He looked up.
The cabin window had fogged over.
On the glass, a single word had formed—written by an unseen finger.
Listen.
The tram jerked forward.
Elion stared at the message as it faded slowly, like breath dissolving into night.
His reflection returned in the window.
And this time, it whispered without sound—
—You are not alone anymore.