Hana awoke to silence.
Not the gentle kind that came before dawn, but the heavy, suffocating silence that pressed against the walls. Even the cicadas outside seemed muted.
She sat up slowly, clutching her teddy. The house was dark—too dark. Mrs. Park always left a lamp glowing in the hall for her, but tonight the bulb was dead.
Her chest tightened. The memory of the scarred man's smile burned behind her eyes.
She got out of bed and padded barefoot toward the door. The wooden floor groaned under her weight. She winced, freezing, listening.
And then she heard it.
A creak. Not from her step. From downstairs.
Hana's breath hitched. She pressed the teddy's head against her mouth to muffle any sound. Slowly, carefully, she peeked down the staircase.
A shadow moved across the living room.
Tall. Broad shoulders. Too large to be Mrs. Park.
Her heart thudded in her ears. She knew that shape. That walk. That restless scanning of the room.
The man with the missing button.
He was inside her house.
Hana's knees shook, but she didn't move. The man prowled slowly, his fingers brushing the furniture, the photo frames, the shelves. His head tilted as though listening.
She hugged her teddy tighter. The bloodstain on its fur seemed to pulse under her fingers.
The man stopped in front of the small shrine on the shelf—her father's photo with Hana as a baby. He stared at it for a long moment. Then he chuckled, low and rough.
"You really believe he's innocent, don't you?" he muttered to himself.
Hana's stomach dropped. He knew. He knew why she followed him.
The man's head turned, scanning the stairs. Hana ducked back into the shadows, pressing against the wall. Her lungs burned from holding her breath.
Footsteps creaked closer. Up the stairs.
She bolted.
Bare feet silent, she darted back into her room and slid under the bed, clutching the teddy so tightly its seams strained. Dust filled her nose, but she didn't dare sneeze.
The bedroom door creaked open.
Boots stepped inside.
From the crack beneath the bed, she saw him. His scarred cheek, the cigarette dangling from his lips, the way his jacket sagged where the button was missing. He scanned the room slowly, eyes narrowing.
Hana squeezed her eyes shut, whispering inside her head: Don't look here. Don't look here.
The boots paused near her bed.
The man crouched.
Hana's entire body shook. She bit into her teddy's ear to stop a cry from escaping.
Then, suddenly—
A knock on the front door.
The man froze. He stood quickly, glancing toward the sound. The knocking grew louder, urgent.
"Police!" a voice called. "Open up!"
The man cursed under his breath. He strode out of the room, footsteps heavy. The front door creaked open, and voices argued in hushed tones.
Then silence.
When Hana dared to peek from under the bed, the house was empty again.
Minutes later, Mrs. Park rushed in, face pale. Behind her, two uniformed officers stood awkwardly, claiming they had been patrolling the neighborhood.
Hana's eyes darted around. No scarred man. No proof he had been there.
But on the floor, near her bed, a single clue remained.
A cigarette butt, still warm.
Hana crawled forward, picking it up with trembling fingers. She looked at the officers, then at Mrs. Park, but no one seemed to notice.
So she hid it in her teddy bear's pocket.
Her secret. Her proof.
The man had been here.
And next time, he wouldn't leave so easily.