The memory hit Kenzo hard. It wasn’t a stranger who brushed past him earlier — it was Tunde, his closest friend. They had laughed, exchanged quick words, and parted without a second thought. At least, that’s what Kenzo thought had happened.

The hooded woman watched his face change. “You remember now,” she said quietly.

Kenzo nodded, his chest tightening. “He touched me. Just for a second.”

The pale creature let out a low, satisfied hiss. “Marks are never given by enemies. Only by those you trust enough not to question the touch.”

The invisible presence beside Kenzo stirred violently, as if angered by the truth. The bus lights flickered, briefly revealing its outline — tall, stretched, and watching him with hollow intent.

The driver spoke without turning. “Your friend didn’t choose you by accident. He chose you because you’d survive long enough to carry it.”

Kenzo’s hands trembled. “Carry it where?”

The hooded woman met his eyes for the first time, pulling her hood back just enough to reveal fear etched deep into her face.

“To the place where it was born,” she said. “And where it wants to return.”

The bus suddenly swerved, changing direction on its own, speeding into a road Kenzo had never seen before.

And on the dark glass of the window beside him, words slowly appeared — traced from the outside by an unseen finger:

“NEXT STOP: HOME.”

The memory hit Kenzo hard. It wasn’t a stranger who brushed past him earlier — it was Tunde, his closest friend. They had laughed, exchanged quick words, and parted without a second thought. At least, that’s what Kenzo thought had happened.

The hooded woman watched his face change. “You remember now,” she said quietly.

Kenzo nodded, his chest tightening. “He touched me. Just for a second.”

The pale creature let out a low, satisfied hiss. “Marks are never given by enemies. Only by those you trust enough not to question the touch.”

The invisible presence beside Kenzo stirred violently, as if angered by the truth. The bus lights flickered, briefly revealing its outline — tall, stretched, and watching him with hollow intent.

The driver spoke without turning. “Your friend didn’t choose you by accident. He chose you because you’d survive long enough to carry it.”

Kenzo’s hands trembled. “Carry it where?”

The hooded woman met his eyes for the first time, pulling her hood back just enough to reveal fear etched deep into her face.

“To the place where it was born,” she said. “And where it wants to return.”

The bus suddenly swerved, changing direction on its own, speeding into a road Kenzo had never seen before.

And on the dark glass of the window beside him, words slowly appeared — traced from the outside by an unseen finger:

“NEXT STOP: HOME.”