Choen's POV
The warm scent of incense mixed with fresh paint filled the newly renovated boutique space. Sunlight filtered through the long glass panels, catching flecks of dust still dancing in the air. Choen stood at the entrance of her soon-to-open fashion studio—her dream project, her healing. And yet… she couldn't breathe.
Ever since she returned from France, the air had felt heavier.
She placed her phone on the counter and opened her design sketchbook, trying to distract herself. But her fingers trembled. The note Gabrielle had left still haunted her.
"They are watching… even in reflections."
"Ridiculous," she whispered to herself, flipping a page—but stopped.
A page she didn't remember drawing. A figure in red. A large, inhuman spider web behind it. The ink still looked wet.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from the spiral. An unknown number again.
"You brought something back, didn't you?"
Choen dropped the phone. The screen stayed lit.
"It's not over. Not until you remember."
She backed away from the counter.
Suddenly, the lights flickered. The mirror behind her shimmered for a moment—not like a reflection, but as though something behind it moved.
"Get it together," she told herself, grabbing her phone and walking out of the shop, locking the door behind her. A chill brushed past her neck as she turned.
Someone had written on the dusty car parked nearby:
"Fashion is fate. But whose?"
Dokkaebi's POV
The car hummed beneath him as he tapped the steering wheel. The radio news was muffled under his thoughts, until a word caught his attention.
"...hospital in Paris still under investigation for multiple patient disappearances and mysterious deaths. Notably, Professor Gabrielle Marchand's death has been ruled 'unusual but natural'..."
His foot slammed the brake. Cars behind him honked.
"Gabrielle? Isn't that—" He fumbled for his phone, calling Choen. No answer.
He turned the volume up.
"Sources claim there were no signs of trauma. Strangely, patients in the same wing reported similar hallucinations days before the incidents—mentioning whispers, movement in shadows, and seeing themselves… on screens."
Dokkaebi swallowed hard. "She was in that hospital."
He pulled over, heart racing.
What if she brought back something that's not supposed to exist here?
He typed a message.
"Are you okay? I heard about your professor. Please tell me you're alright."
He didn't send it.
Instead, he drove. Somewhere. Anywhere. He just needed to see her face.
Choen's POV
Back at home, Choen closed the door to her room and slid down to the floor.
Her graduation was a week away. Her studio was almost complete. The world saw her as someone who survived grief and returned stronger.
But the truth?
She didn't feel alone in her own body anymore.
She felt… watched.
Outside her window, a crow screeched and flapped its wings. The same crow she saw every morning since her return. Its eyes too intelligent, too… focused.
The message replayed in her mind.
"You brought something back."
She touched her wrist, the one she used to reach out to Gabrielle's hand in the hospital. It had a faint scar now—one she didn't remember getting.
Dokkaebi's POV
He finally stopped in front of her house. He wasn't sure if he should ring the bell.
Then, just as he turned to leave, he saw it—on her doorstep.
A red thread. Thin and shimmering in the moonlight, coiled like a snake.
He picked it up, instantly feeling cold seep into his fingers.
He looked up at her window.
Something moved behind the curtain