Kenzo stood frozen at the bus stop, the night humming softly around him. The figure in the glass behind him didn’t move — didn’t breathe — just waited, patient in a way only something certain could be.

“You survived,” a voice said calmly from the reflection. Not threatening. Almost proud.

“You did exactly what you were meant to do.”

Kenzo swallowed. “I didn’t let you win.”

The figure tilted its head. “No. You made room.”

The truth settled slowly, heavily. The mark hadn’t been removed — it had opened him. What followed him on the bus wasn’t trying to stay.

It was trying to cross.

The streetlight flickered, and suddenly Kenzo wasn’t alone. Across the road, another person stood at a different bus stop. Then another. Ordinary people. Waiting. Watching the road with the same distant calm he’d once felt.

“You carried the doorway,” the voice continued. “Others will carry the rest.”

A bus approached in the distance, headlights cutting through the dark. It wasn’t the same bus — newer, brighter — but Kenzo felt the recognition in his bones.

The doors hissed open.

Inside, people sat quietly. Too quietly. Some stared forward. Some looked down. One seat near the back was empty.

The figure smiled — not with Tunde’s face this time, but with Kenzo’s.

“You don’t have to get on,” it said gently. “That’s the gift you earned.”

Kenzo stepped back, heart pounding, as the bus waited… then slowly pulled away, disappearing down the road with its passengers still inside.

Silence returned.

Kenzo stood there long after, shaken but standing — until his phone buzzed in his hand.

A final message.

From a saved contact.

TUNDE:

Did you feel it too?

Kenzo stared at the screen.

Then, across the city, at bus stops that had never existed before,

Kenzo stood frozen at the bus stop, the night humming softly around him. The figure in the glass behind him didn’t move — didn’t breathe — just waited, patient in a way only something certain could be.

“You survived,” a voice said calmly from the reflection. Not threatening. Almost proud.

“You did exactly what you were meant to do.”

Kenzo swallowed. “I didn’t let you win.”

The figure tilted its head. “No. You made room.”

The truth settled slowly, heavily. The mark hadn’t been removed — it had opened him. What followed him on the bus wasn’t trying to stay.

It was trying to cross.

The streetlight flickered, and suddenly Kenzo wasn’t alone. Across the road, another person stood at a different bus stop. Then another. Ordinary people. Waiting. Watching the road with the same distant calm he’d once felt.

“You carried the doorway,” the voice continued. “Others will carry the rest.”

A bus approached in the distance, headlights cutting through the dark. It wasn’t the same bus — newer, brighter — but Kenzo felt the recognition in his bones.

The doors hissed open.

Inside, people sat quietly. Too quietly. Some stared forward. Some looked down. One seat near the back was empty.

The figure smiled — not with Tunde’s face this time, but with Kenzo’s.

“You don’t have to get on,” it said gently. “That’s the gift you earned.”

Kenzo stepped back, heart pounding, as the bus waited… then slowly pulled away, disappearing down the road with its passengers still inside.

Silence returned.

Kenzo stood there long after, shaken but standing — until his phone buzzed in his hand.

A final message.

From a saved contact.

TUNDE:

Did you feel it too?

Kenzo stared at the screen.

Then, across the city, at bus stops that had never existed before,