"Where were you?" William's voice was already sharp, already accusing. "You're late. Were you drinking?"
"William, stop," Jack said quickly, panic in his tone. "This is not the time."
[Ohhh? His face is beautiful… and fragile.] the voice inside Jack purred, curious and cruel.
"What are you saying?" Jack muttered under his breath.
William frowned. "Are you drunk, Jack? Look at you."
Jack dropped his gaze, shame burning up his throat like bile.
"It was your first day at work, and you skipped it. You went drinking instead. Didn't you? Mom waited up for you, and you never came. She just went to sleep." His eyes flicked to the red stain on Jack's shirt. "Is that blood?"
Jack forced a shrug. "Nosebleed. Too much whiskey. Don't worry about it."
"You're hopeless," William whispered.
He turned toward the door. His hand gripped the knob, then paused. He looked back, eyes dark and sharp, voice low and deliberate.
"Every day I wonder… why did Dad die instead of you?"
The words didn't just land—they hollowed him out. Jack's chest caved, his breath caught, and his vision blurred. For a heartbeat, he swore he could hear his father's name echoing in the silence, like the house itself agreed.
The door slammed, rattling the frame.
Jack stood frozen, chest carved open, head bowed.
[Mmm,] the voice inside him whispered, savoring the wound. [So much shame in this house. I like your brother, Mouse. I'd like to taste him.]
Jack pressed his palms to his temples, trembling. "Shut up," he whispered.
He tore off the blood‑stained shirt and collapsed face‑first onto the bed.
Jesus, I need to rest.
[Do you want me to tell you a bedtime story?]
"Shut up and let me sleep."
[Come on, I'm not sleepy.]
I hate her. I can't make her shut up. Why, God, why did you do this to me? Why did you put this devil in me?
[Hey, I can hear you.]
"You can hear my thoughts too?"
[Of course. Now listen.]
The voice curled soft and venomous, like a lullaby.
[Once upon a time there were two friends. One was confident and fun and happy; the other was miserable, full of self-loathing, and shameless. His dad died because of him. His mother and brother hate him and blame him, so he thought he could buy their love with money, so he had an idea.]
Jack's breath caught. "Why are you doing this to me?"
[Because stories are truths you can't run from. His happy friend had a bright future ahead of him: success, a nice family, and a dad and mother that loved him. A litel sister that wanted to grow up to be like her older brother. One day the shameless friend came to him and asked him to drop his future for him and help him. the happy friend accepted, and that acceptance cost him his life. And in this story, Mouse, you're not the hero. You're the curse.]
Jack squeezed his eyes shut, but the voice only grew louder, curling around his thoughts like smoke.
Fists clenched in the sheets. His chest heaved. He wanted to scream, but the sound wouldn't come. Only the compass pulsed at his belt, steady, hungry, as if agreeing with every word.
Jack cracked his eyes open. The smell of Ash and sage drifted through the window. Birds called faintly outside. For a moment, it was almost beautiful. Almost normal.
[Good morning, Mouse,] the voice purred. [Did you hope it was all a dream?]
"You're still here," Jack muttered.
A knock at the door. His mother's voice—strange, hesitant. She never knocked. "Jack? Some gentlemen are here to see you."
The door opened. Two men stepped in, black suits, black glasses, their presence heavy in the small room. His mother lingered behind them, her robe clutched tight.
The taller man spoke, voice low and measured. "Morning, Mr. Alvarez. Sorry to wake you, but we bring bad news. Your friend, Mister Jonsen… was found dead on the road not far from here."
Jack's lips parted. His chest heaved. The words clawed at his throat. Tell them. Tell them everything. The fight. The lightning. The compass. Her.
[Careful, Mouse,] the voice coiled, velvet and venom. [Do you really think they'll believe you? That a Super with glowing eyes killed your friend, and now she lives inside your skin?]
Jack's breath hitched. It's the truth.
[No. It's madness. They'll lock you away. They'll call you a murderer and a lunatic. And your mother—look at her. Do you want her to see you in chains, raving like a mad dog?]
His gaze snapped to his mother. Her eyes were already wet, her lips trembling.
[Lie, Mouse. Lie, and live. That's what humans do best.]
Jack's fists clenched. His pulse thundered in his ears. The truth burned in his chest, begging to be freed. But the compass at his belt pulsed once, steady, commanding.
"Mister Alvaraz"
"What? No. That's impossible. I was just with him—"
The second man cut in, sharper. "Your mother told us you and Rayen left for work together. But your employer says neither of you showed up. Care to explain?"
His throat closed. He swallowed hard. "I… I wasn't going to work. I lied. I went drinking. Rayen… he didn't want to come with me, so I left him. That's the last time I saw him."
His mother's face hardened, disappointment cutting deeper than any blade. The agents exchanged a glance—suspicion still sharp in their eyes.
[Good boy,] she purred. [Lie. Live. Keep me.]
The room went still. Jack's lie hung in the air like smoke, bitter and heavy.
The taller agent studied him for a long moment, unreadable behind his dark glasses. "Very well, Mr. Alvarez. We'll be in touch."
The second agent's gaze lingered on Jack's trembling hands. His voice was flat but sharp enough to cut. "Don't leave town."
They turned in unison, their shoes clicking against the worn floorboards. His mother stepped aside, her face pale, her eyes refusing to meet his. The door shut behind them with a final, heavy thud.
Silence.
Jack stood frozen, chest heaving, the compass at his belt pulsing faintly like a second heart.
[Well done, Mouse,] the voice purred, satisfied. [You lied. You lived. For now.]
Jack's breath caught. "The shirt."
He remembered—he'd peeled it off last night, dropped it on the floor, too numb to care. It should still be there.
He spun toward the corner of the room. Empty.
"His chest tightened. "No… no, no, no." He dropped to his knees, shoving aside shoes, papers, and anything that might hide it. Nothing.
[Looking for something, Mouse?] the voice purred. [The proof? The stain? The blood that screams your guilt?]
"I left it here," Jack whispered, frantic. "I left it right here."
[And now it's gone.] Her laughter slithered through his skull. [Which means someone found it. Mommy, perhaps? Or your sweet brother? Maybe even those men in black.]
Jack's hands shook as he pressed them to his face. And somewhere in this house—or in someone's hands—was the shirt he'd left behind.
[Oh, Mouse,] the voice purred, dripping with amusement. [You really don't remember?]
Jack froze. "What did you do?"
Her laughter slithered through his skull. [I played. While you slept, I borrowed your hands. I carried your little bloody shirt outside, to the pit where your family burns their scraps. And I fed it to the fire.]
[The flames licked it clean. Every drop of his blood, every stain of your shame—gone. Ashes now. Ashes, like your friend.]
Jack's stomach lurched. "Why…"
He staggered back, gripping the wall for balance. His breath came ragged. "Why? How could you—"
[That second heartbeat in your belt? That's Nightpulse. Your fuel. When it gets low, I get to play.]
"Nightpulse." Jack's skin crawled. His hands shook as he stared at them, as if they no longer belonged to him.
[Nightpulse is the compass fuel you need to fill up.]
"How do I charge the compass Nightpulse?"
[Well, there are three ways. One: absorb souls. Two: burn them. Three… well, we'll get to that later.]
"Absorb souls."
[Yes.]
"And if I absorb them… are they going to be in my head like you?"
[That depends on you, Mouse. You could choose. Absorb them, and they'll whisper forever—every fear, every regret, every scream. They'll claw at your thoughts until you can't tell which voice is yours.]
"And if I burn them?"
[Then they vanish. No whispers. No memories. Just raw power flooding your veins. But the hunger grows. The compass will demand more and more until you're nothing but a furnace for ash.]
"So either I go mad… or I become a monster."
[Exactly. That's the beauty of it.]
"Why did you burn the shirt? Why did you help me? I thought you hated me."
[Hate? No, Mouse. You don't understand. You're not just wearing me. I'm wearing you. And I need you out of prison so I can get out of this body.]
"Out… of me?"
[Mmm. Did you think I wanted to rot in your skull forever? No. You're a doorway. A vessel. A cage. And cages are only useful when they can move, when they can hunt. If you're locked away, I'm locked away. And when the compass is full enough… of Nightpulse, maybe I won't be in this cage anymore.]