Kenzo woke to silence.

No engine. No flickering lights. No breathing beside him.

He was lying on a bus seat, sunlight spilling through the windows like nothing bad had ever happened. The road outside was normal again — traffic, people, noise. Morning.

For a moment, relief washed over him. Then he pressed a hand to his chest.

The mark was gone.

No warmth. No glow. Just skin and a strange, aching emptiness beneath it. He sat up too fast, heart racing, scanning the bus. The hooded woman was gone. The driver was gone. The pale creature — gone.

So was the shadow.

“You’re safe,” a voice said.

Kenzo turned. A normal conductor stood near the door, watching him with concern. “You fell asleep, brother. Bad dream?”

Kenzo opened his mouth to answer… and stopped.

He couldn’t remember how the mark appeared.

Couldn’t remember why Tunde’s face had frightened him.

Couldn’t even remember what he had chosen — only that something important had been taken with it.

As he stepped off the bus, the city felt unfamiliar, like a place he hadn’t earned yet. People passed him, laughing, living, unaware of what almost followed him home.

Kenzo walked away slowly, one hand pressed to his chest.

Because even though the mark was gone…

Something inside him knew a part of himself had been left behind on that road.

And somewhere far away, in a place not meant to exist anymore,

something whispered his name — softly, patiently —

as if waiting for him to remember.

Kenzo woke to silence.

No engine. No flickering lights. No breathing beside him.

He was lying on a bus seat, sunlight spilling through the windows like nothing bad had ever happened. The road outside was normal again — traffic, people, noise. Morning.

For a moment, relief washed over him. Then he pressed a hand to his chest.

The mark was gone.

No warmth. No glow. Just skin and a strange, aching emptiness beneath it. He sat up too fast, heart racing, scanning the bus. The hooded woman was gone. The driver was gone. The pale creature — gone.

So was the shadow.

“You’re safe,” a voice said.

Kenzo turned. A normal conductor stood near the door, watching him with concern. “You fell asleep, brother. Bad dream?”

Kenzo opened his mouth to answer… and stopped.

He couldn’t remember how the mark appeared.

Couldn’t remember why Tunde’s face had frightened him.

Couldn’t even remember what he had chosen — only that something important had been taken with it.

As he stepped off the bus, the city felt unfamiliar, like a place he hadn’t earned yet. People passed him, laughing, living, unaware of what almost followed him home.

Kenzo walked away slowly, one hand pressed to his chest.

Because even though the mark was gone…

Something inside him knew a part of himself had been left behind on that road.

And somewhere far away, in a place not meant to exist anymore,

something whispered his name — softly, patiently —

as if waiting for him to remember.