Kenzo grabbed his shirt and pulled it down just enough to see the glowing symbol. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat under his skin. He took a shaky breath. “What… what is this?”

The pale creature hissed softly, crawling closer on its crooked limbs.

“That mark… belongs to us.”

The hooded woman shook her head. “No. That mark was taken from somewhere dangerous. Someone put it on you. On purpose.”

Kenzo stared at her. “Who would do that?”

She didn’t answer — she only looked away, as if afraid to speak the truth.

The invisible presence beside him growled again, deeper this time, a warning sound. The bus felt like it was shrinking with every second. The pale creature reached toward Kenzo’s chest, its fingertips trembling inches away from the glowing symbol.

The driver yelled, “Don’t let it touch you! If it completes the mark, you’re gone!”

Kenzo jerked back, heart racing, but the creature only whispered:

“You carried the mark when you stepped into the bus. Someone gave it to you. Someone you trust.”

Kenzo’s throat tightened. Someone he trusted?

His mind raced through faces — family, friends, coworkers.

But then a memory flashed:

A stranger brushing past him earlier that evening… whispering “Sorry” too quietly… and leaving his shoulder oddly warm.

Kenzo froze.

He remembered the voice.

He remembered the touch.

And it wasn’t a stranger at all.

Kenzo grabbed his shirt and pulled it down just enough to see the glowing symbol. It pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat under his skin. He took a shaky breath. “What… what is this?”

The pale creature hissed softly, crawling closer on its crooked limbs.

“That mark… belongs to us.”

The hooded woman shook her head. “No. That mark was taken from somewhere dangerous. Someone put it on you. On purpose.”

Kenzo stared at her. “Who would do that?”

She didn’t answer — she only looked away, as if afraid to speak the truth.

The invisible presence beside him growled again, deeper this time, a warning sound. The bus felt like it was shrinking with every second. The pale creature reached toward Kenzo’s chest, its fingertips trembling inches away from the glowing symbol.

The driver yelled, “Don’t let it touch you! If it completes the mark, you’re gone!”

Kenzo jerked back, heart racing, but the creature only whispered:

“You carried the mark when you stepped into the bus. Someone gave it to you. Someone you trust.”

Kenzo’s throat tightened. Someone he trusted?

His mind raced through faces — family, friends, coworkers.

But then a memory flashed:

A stranger brushing past him earlier that evening… whispering “Sorry” too quietly… and leaving his shoulder oddly warm.

Kenzo froze.

He remembered the voice.

He remembered the touch.

And it wasn’t a stranger at all.