Chapter Two: When Shadows Breathe
I didn't sleep.
How could I, after hearing that voice? That whisper of my name, soft as a lover's, cold as a grave?
Maybe I dreamed it. Maybe I was slipping—too much work, too many bills, too much ramen. People crack in worse ways. I told myself that. Over and over. I clung to it like a drowning man clings to driftwood.
But then morning came. The sun slanted weakly through the blinds, and the cat was still there.
Watching me.
Its eyes were golden again. Normal. Too normal.
I dragged myself to class, dead-eyed, robotic. People didn't notice, but I did. Whispers trailed me down hallways. Not about the cat—yet. Just the usual:
"That's the scholarship boy."
"He works nights, you know."
"Pathetic."
But when I got home that evening, the apartment was wrong again.
Someone had cleaned it.
The trash I'd left scattered was gone. My dishes washed, stacked neatly. Even the rent notice, crumpled on my desk, had been smoothed out.
I stood there in my doorway, gripping the frame so tight my knuckles whitened. Nobody had a spare key. Nobody came here. I didn't even have friends who cared enough.
And then I saw it.
The cat. Sitting upright on my futon. Its golden eyes fixed on me. Tail swishing. Behind it… the faint silhouette of a woman in the mirror.
Not me. Not my reflection.
I blinked. The shape wavered. Stretched. The cat jumped down—its paws hit the floor—but the reflection didn't vanish.
Instead, it stepped forward.
Through the glass.
Skin first—pale, luminous. Then hair—dark, flowing like liquid shadow. Then eyes—crimson fire rimmed in gold.
The cat was gone. Where it had stood, now stood her.
A girl. No—something more. Too beautiful. Too sharp. The kind of beauty that felt dangerous, like staring too long at the sun.
I staggered back, breath caught in my throat. "You—what—"
She tilted her head, studying me like I was the strange one. Then she smiled.
"I told you my name, Ethan." Her voice was the whisper from last night, but clearer now, velvet laced with steel. "But you weren't ready to hear it."
I swallowed hard. "What are you?"
Her smile deepened, playful, cruel, and yet… heartbreakingly gentle.
"Your little monster."
And then—before I could react—someone pounded at my door.
Three sharp knocks.
"Ethan!" It was my landlord's voice. Angry, impatient. "Open up! Rent's overdue again. You don't pay tonight, you're out!"
I froze.
Behind me, the girl tilted her head, her eyes flashing red. And when she spoke again, her voice wasn't soft anymore—it was low, guttural, wrong.
"Shall I deal with him?"
The pounding at the door grew louder.
"Ethan! I know you're in there! Don't think you can keep ignoring me!" My landlord's voice was like nails on glass, scraping at the thin barrier between my sanity and collapse.
I looked at her—the girl, the monster, the impossible miracle now standing barefoot in my apartment. She was too calm, like this was all part of some script only she'd read.
"Don't," I hissed under my breath. "Don't you dare."
Her crimson eyes glowed faintly, as if lit from within. "He bothers you."
"That's… what landlords do!" I whispered furiously, waving my hands like a madman trying to shoo away a ghost. "You can't just—"
Her grin stretched wider. "Watch me."
Before I could stop her, she flicked her wrist. No words, no visible effort—just a ripple in the air, like heat rising off asphalt.
The lights in my apartment flickered.
And on the other side of the door, my landlord yelped. A sharp, undignified squeal.
"What the—?!" His voice cracked. "Wh—why is it so cold in here?!"
I pressed a palm to my forehead, groaning. She was playing with him.
Outside, I heard scrambling footsteps, then another thud. "The lights! The lights are—moving?! WHAT IS THAT?!"
She laughed. Oh, God, she actually laughed—a low, melodic sound that filled the room like smoke.
"Stop it!" I snapped, pointing at her like she was a misbehaving child. "I have to live here, you know! You scare him too much, he'll—"
But it was too late.
The man screamed, a raw, guttural sound. Then his heavy boots clattered down the hallway, fading into silence.
The building was quiet again.
I stared at the door. Then at her. Then back at the door.
"…You just got me evicted," I muttered flatly.
She tilted her head, pretending to think. "No. He won't come back. Not for a while. He believes this place is haunted."
I buried my face in my hands. "Great. Just great. I live in a haunted apartment. With a—whatever you are."
When I peeked through my fingers, she was crouched down, looking up at me with those crimson-gold eyes. Too close. Too curious.
"Does that make you afraid of me, Ethan?" she asked softly.
And here's the twist: my heart was pounding, yes. My skin prickled with unease. But afraid? Not exactly.
If anything…
I was drawn to her.
I didn't sleep. Not really.
How could I? A shapeshifting monster girl had taken over my sofa, my landlord now believed my apartment was haunted, and—oh right—the electricity bill was still unpaid.
Every time I closed my eyes, I half-expected to open them and find her perched over me, smiling.
But around midnight, as I lay stiff on my mattress, I heard it.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Not the door. The window.
I froze.
Fourth floor. No balcony. No fire escape. Nothing but cold night air and a long drop.
I turned my head slowly.
The curtain shifted. A shadow moved behind it.
"Are you expecting someone?" Her voice slid through the dark—lazy, amused. She was still awake, curled catlike on the couch. Her eyes glowed faint gold in the dark.
"…No," I whispered.
Knock. Knock.
This time louder. Insistent.
I swallowed hard, every nerve screaming. Someone—or something—was outside my fourth-floor window.
I reached for the curtain. My hand shook. My breath hitched.
Pulled it back.
And saw—
Nothing.
Just the city, restless and humming. Neon bleeding across concrete. No figures. No intruders.
"Hallucinating already?" she teased, propping her chin on her hand.
I exhaled shakily. "Maybe."
Then the curtain snapped shut. By itself.
And from the other side, something whispered:
"Eeeethaaaan…"
I nearly jumped out of my skin.
She laughed again, low and delighted. "This city is louder at night than you realize."
But I wasn't buying it. My gut told me that wasn't the city. That was something else.
I didn't dare open the window again.
But the night wasn't done with me.
At 1:47 AM, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
I answered on autopilot, my throat dry.
Static. Then—breathing.
"Hello?" My voice cracked.
The line hissed. And then:
"You picked it up. You shouldn't have picked it up."
Click.
I stared at the phone until the screen went black.
2:10 AM. Another sound. Not a knock this time. A scratching.
From inside the walls.
I shot upright, panic clawing up my spine. "Tell me you hear that."
She nodded slowly. "Yes."
"Well, do something!"
Her smile was different this time. Sharper. Almost hungry. "Why would I stop it? The night is only showing you its teeth."
I wanted to scream at her. But I didn't. Because the scratching was moving closer. Crawling up the wall like invisible claws.
Right toward my bed.
At 2:23 AM, the lights in the entire building died.
Complete darkness.
Except her eyes.
And the faint, luminous outline of something pressing against the inside of my wall—like a handprint burning through plaster.
By dawn, I realized two things:
I wasn't alone in this city anymore.Some debts aren't paid with money.And this was only the beginning