It was still early morning, the kind that painted the world in quiet shades of gray.

Cain sat behind his desk, the low hum of the ceiling fan cutting through the silence. His coffee had long gone cold when Adrian dropped a file onto his desk with a sharp slap.

"Cain," Adrian said with a grin. "We got the location of Layla Bose's family. Chief Bob and I are heading there — you're coming with us."

Cain leaned back, brow slightly raised. "That was quick."

He pushed his chair back and stood, adjusting his gloves. "Fine then, let's go."

As they walked past the front desk, Mira called after them, "Good luck out there."

Adrian smiled over his shoulder. "Thanks, Mira."

Her eyes flickered to Cain. He gave her a small wink, and her face flushed pink as she quickly looked away.

Adrian caught it and smirked, tapping Cain's arm. "Let's go, lover boy."

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime.

---

Outside, Chief Bob was already waiting beside the car. "Finally. Let's move."

Adrian climbed into the driver's seat, Bob took the front passenger side, and Cain slipped silently into the back.

The city rolled past the windows — morning mist curling around buildings, the low rumble of engines filling the streets. They drove for nearly an hour until the scenery began to change — the tall glass towers giving way to old houses with chipped paint and wilted gardens.

Finally, Bob gestured ahead. "That's it. The Bose residence."

Adrian parked by the curb. The house stood quietly before them — two stories high, its paint peeled and faded. The curtains were drawn tight even though the sun had already climbed high. Weeds choked the small yard, and the air smelled faintly of rust and damp earth.

Cain stared at it, unease crawling under his skin.

I guess it's time to pay our regards to Layla's family, he thought.

They approached the front door. Adrian knocked once.

No answer.

Bob tried again, louder this time.

A faint shuffle sounded from inside, followed by a trembling voice. "W–Who's there?"

Bob held up his badge near the peephole. "Detective Bob, police department. We're here to talk to you about your wife's passing."

A pause. Then the man's voice again, hollow. "…My wife. Yes."

Cain and Adrian exchanged glances — something was off.

"May we come in?" Bob asked gently.

"Y–Yes, yes, of course."

What followed was the sound of locks being undone. One click. Then another. Then another.

The detectives glanced at each other.

Adrian frowned. "How many locks does one door need?"

Bob sighed. "Maybe his wife's death got to him."

Finally, after a small eternity, the door creaked open.

---

The stench hit them first — a mix of dust, stale air, and something faintly rotten.

The inside was shrouded in gloom. Every curtain was drawn tight, swallowing the sunlight. Dust motes floated lazily through the air, illuminated by the thin beam of light from the door.

"Sorry for the mess," a voice murmured.

The man before them was thin, gaunt, his skin pale and his eyes sunken in deep, sleepless shadows. His black hair was unkempt, and his robe hung loosely from his shoulders, revealing a stained undershirt and wrinkled shorts. He wore socks that didn't match.

Cain studied him quietly.

He lost his wife and looks like death itself. Men really shouldn't marry if this is the aftermath, he thought bitterly.

Bob stepped forward. "Mr. Bose, we'd like to ask you a few questions."

"Yes, of course," the man said softly, shutting the door behind them — and then, unnervingly, began locking each bolt again.

Click.

Click.

Click.

The metallic sound echoed through the still house.

The detectives froze. Instinctively, Bob's hand went to his gun holster.

The man noticed and lifted his trembling hands. "I— I'm just locking the door. I won't harm you. I promise."

Bob hesitated, then lowered his arm slightly. "Alright. Let's sit."

---

The living room was a ghost of what it once might have been.

A large glass table stood in the center, its surface cloudy with dust. Torn magazines were scattered across the floor. A broken photo frame lay by the wall, its glass cracked, the smiling face of Layla Bose staring faintly from beneath.

They took their seats — Bob and Adrian on one side, Cain slightly behind them. Mr. Bose sat across, fidgeting with his robe sleeve.

Bob spoke gently. "I'm sorry to trouble you so soon after your loss. But this is part of the investigation, and your help is crucial."

Mr. Bose nodded numbly. "I understand."

"Good. Then let's begin. What happened that night?"

For a moment, silence.

Then, Mr. Bose's eyes unfocused — staring somewhere distant, somewhere cold. His hand began to shake.

Images flooded his mind — a shadowed figure, a choking sound, Layla's terrified scream cut short.

Bob noticed the trembling. "You don't need to be afraid," he said softly. "You're safe. We're here to protect you. Just tell us — who killed your wife?"

The man's voice cracked. "It… it wasn't human."

The room went still.

Adrian blinked. "What do you mean — not human?"

Bob leaned forward. "Be specific, Mr. Bose."

The man's eyes darted wildly. "It wasn't human… it was a monster."

He shot to his feet, breathing hard, his gaze scanning the room as if expecting something to crawl out of the shadows.

The detectives rose immediately.

"Mr. Bose, please calm down," Bob said, hands raised.

But Bose's panic only grew. His hands clawed at his own face, his fingers trembling violently. "He's here," he whispered. "He's coming for me. I escaped, but he's here!"

Bob tried to step closer. "You're safe here, I promise—"

"NO!" Bose screamed, backing away. His heel caught the edge of a rug and he fell hard to the floor.

He scrambled backward on all fours, pressing himself against the wall, sobbing. "I don't want to die! He'll come for me! He'll kill me like he killed her!"

His voice broke into raw, helpless cries.

The sound filled the suffocating air — a grown man reduced to terror, his body trembling as if the very memory of that night was strangling him.

Cain watched him, his expression cold but heavy.

This man's mind is gone.

Adrian whispered to Bob, "Chief, he's not in any state to talk. What do we do?"

Bob exhaled slowly. "We'll leave for now. He's too unstable — pressing him will only push him over the edge."

Adrian nodded. "Agreed."

They turned toward the door. Bob began unfastening the countless locks one by one.

But Cain's voice stopped them.

"Wait."

They turned back to him.

Cain's eyes were sharp. "We can't leave him here. Look at him — he's on the verge of breaking. If left alone, he could take his own life. And if we take his words seriously, that thing — whatever it is — could come for him."

Bob paused, thinking.

Cain continued, firm. "I suggest we bring him in. Keep him under observation at the station. It's safer for him — and for the investigation."

A slow smile crossed Bob's tired face. "Good thinking, Detective Cain. I like that."

He looked to Adrian. "Get him up. We're taking him with us."

Adrian approached carefully. "Mr. Bose, we're taking you somewhere safe."

But Bose flinched violently. "Where are you taking me? Are you working with him? You're taking me to HIM!"

He shoved Adrian hard — the detective stumbled and fell.

Bose bolted for the door, shoulder-checking Bob on the way out.

"Stop, Mr. Bose!" Bob shouted, sprinting after him — but the man was already halfway down the street, his robe flapping wildly behind him.

Bob stopped at the porch, panting. "How the hell is he that fast?"

Cain stepped outside, his voice calm. "Leave him to me, Chief."

Bob looked back, uncertain. "You sure?"

Cain adjusted his gloves, his crimson eyes glinting faintly. "Yes. Go back to the car. I'll handle it."

Bob hesitated, then nodded. "Alright. But call if anything happens."

Cain smirked faintly. "I will."

Adrian stumbled out of the house, his chest heaving, the heavy air still clinging to his lungs. Bob was leaning on the car, jaw tight, eyes narrowed with worry.

"You okay?" Bob asked.

Adrian nodded weakly, running a shaky hand through his hair. "Yeah… yeah, I just need a minute."

Bob sighed. "Don't worry, I'll drive this time."

Adrian didn't argue. He just sank into the passenger seat, eyes staring blankly out the window as Bob started the engine and pulled away.

---

Cain stood a few blocks away, his coat swaying faintly with the wind. His sharp eyes scanned the street ahead, his tone low and calm.

"Now where has that sinner run off to…"

He shoved his hands in his pockets, boots crunching softly against gravel as he walked down the narrow lane.

---

Meanwhile, Bose was running. His breathing was erratic — harsh gasps tearing from his throat as if his lungs were on fire. The man sprinted down the highway, his robe flapping wildly around his frail body.

Headlights flared.

A blaring horn screamed through the air as a car screeched to a halt just inches away from him. The driver slammed his palm against the horn again, shouting through the window.

"Are you out of your damn mind!?"

Bose froze — trembling. His pupils were tiny, his entire body shaking as he took a step back. Then his fear twisted into hysteria.

"Y-you're with him too, aren't you!? He sent you—he sent you to finish me off!"

The driver blinked, confused, but before he could reply, Bose bolted.

He ran until the lights of the city dimmed behind him — until the noise of engines faded into nothing. The road turned to dirt, and the dirt led to a desolate place where broken walls rose like the skeletons of forgotten buildings.

Then — he stopped.

Because someone was sitting on the wall ahead, waiting.

The dim streetlight flickered behind him, and the shadow stretched long and sharp across the ground. The man's coat fluttered slightly in the wind.

Cain.

Bose's eyes widened. His lips trembled as he stumbled backward.

Cain dropped from the wall, landing soundlessly. His hand came out of his pocket, revealing his badge.

"In the name of the law…" he said calmly, his gaze unwavering. "…freeze."

But Bose wasn't listening. His breathing grew shallow, erratic — his mind a storm of fear and confusion. His hands trembled violently as he pulled a small, rusted knife from his robe.

"Stay back!" Bose's voice cracked. "You're not human… you're not!"

Cain's expression didn't change. "Drop the knife."

"I said stay back!" Bose screamed, his voice breaking.

Cain took a slow step forward.

"Stop… in the name of the law."

And then — the knife flashed.

Stab.

The sound was wet, heavy.

Cain's body jerked once, then went still. Bose froze, his eyes wide as he stared at the blade buried in Cain's torso.

A drop of blood slid down the knife — then another — until it dripped onto Bose's trembling hand. The warmth of it burned his skin.

Cain's badge slipped from his fingers, clinking softly against the ground. His hand rose weakly, not to attack — but to gently touch Bose's wrist.

That touch made Bose's heart stop.

He looked down at the red staining his hands. His breathing quickened — sharp, ragged gasps that sounded almost inhuman.

"N-no…" he whispered, wiping his bloody palms on his robe again and again. "No, no, no… get off… get it off…"

He scrubbed harder — rubbing until his skin went raw, until the fabric of his robe was smeared with blood.

Cain's body fell to the ground with a dull thud.

Bose stumbled back, staring at the lifeless figure, the growing pool of crimson spreading across the dirt. His voice shook as he muttered to himself, "I… I killed him… the police… the police will come for me now."

He turned sharply, stumbling forward, his body jerking with every step. "I have to run. I have to get away…"

But then—

A voice came from behind him. Low. Calm. Unnatural.

"Where do you think you're going…?"

Bose froze mid-step. His entire body stiffened as a cold shiver crawled up his spine. His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around.

Cain was standing.

The wound that should've killed him was gone — the flesh knitting itself back together, steam rising faintly from where the blade had been. His eyes glowed faintly — a cold, unnatural light that didn't belong to any human.

Bose's face drained of color. His breath came out as shallow gasps, his mind splintering under pure terror. His legs wobbled, his lips trembling as he tried to form words but only air came out.

Cain's tone was colder now, darker — like a blade dragged across glass.

"You house wrecker…"

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