The bus stayed pitch-black, and Kenzo didn’t dare move a muscle. Something sat beside him — he could feel it — the slow rise and fall of its breathing brushing lightly against his neck. Cold. Too cold.

From the back of the bus, the hooded woman spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever you do… don’t look at it. It doesn’t like being seen.”

Kenzo swallowed hard, trying to steady his shaking hands. “What does it want from me?” he whispered.

The seat next to him groaned as the unseen thing leaned closer, as though studying him. Then came a long, shuddering inhale — almost like it was smelling him, learning the shape of him in the dark.

The driver cleared his throat, voice rattling with fear.

“You must’ve picked up something that wasn’t meant for you. That’s why it followed.”

Kenzo’s mind raced. He hadn’t touched anything… had he?

And then, finally, the creature spoke — its voice low, distorted, almost human but not quite:

“Give it back.”