Luka stayed on the living room floor, his chest heaving, the impact against the wall still reverberating in his back. He'd tracked her footsteps disappearing into the ceiling, the sound muffled by the wood, and then the front door opened with a final click. His mother stepped in, her coat dripping rainwater, her tired, sunken eyes taking in the chaotic room.
"Luka? What the hell is this?" she said, her voice hoarse and sharp, stopping in the middle of the room. Her gaze fell on the blood-stained sofa, the red drops scattered across the floor, and the torn, blood-soaked gray coat thrown near the TV. "Where'd all this blood come from? And that coat? Are you hurt?" She took a step forward, her face tightening with a mix of worry and irritation.
Luka scrambled to his feet, his heart still racing, sweaty hands rubbing against his pants to wipe off the dried blood. "No, no, I'm fine, Mom!" he stammered, forcing a smile that looked more like a grimace. "It's… it's from the hospital, you know? At the internship, a patient bled a ton, I ended up helping, and the blood got on me. This coat's from a coworker, he asked me to take it to wash, but I forgot to leave it at the laundry." The words tumbled out in a rush, his voice trembling, but he prayed she'd buy the lie. His mind spun, the fear that she might go up to the attic—or worse, hear something—choking him.
His mother narrowed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she studied him. "You're a mess, kid," she grumbled, rubbing her forehead with a calloused hand. "If you're gonna be a doctor, at least learn not to bring this filth home. And wash that damn coat before it ruins everything." She sighed, the weight of the day slumping her shoulders. "I'm dead tired, I'm going to sleep. Don't make noise, got it?" Without waiting for a reply, she turned, her dragging footsteps carrying her down the hall and up to her bedroom. The door shut with a dull thud, and silence returned, heavy as lead.
Luka stood still for a moment, the air escaping in a shaky breath as he stared at the stained floor. "Shit," he muttered, fingers tugging at his wet hair. He didn't know what he was doing, but he knew he couldn't leave that coat there—it was evidence, a risk, something his mom might pick up again and question. He bent down, grabbing the gray coat with trembling hands, the fabric heavy and damp with blood and rain sticking to his fingers. The iron smell hit him, strong enough to turn his stomach, but he swallowed the nausea and headed for the hallway.
The retractable ladder was still down, the dark hole of the attic staring at him like an open mouth. Luka took a deep breath, his chest tight, and climbed slowly, each step creaking under his feet, the coat dangling from his arm like dead weight. The air up there was warm and stuffy, the scent of dust mingling with her fresh blood. He pushed the hatch open and stepped in, his eyes adjusting to the faint light of the swaying bulb, which cast crooked shadows on the slanted walls.
She was there, sitting at his desk. Hana—though he didn't know her name yet—claimed the space like she owned it, her strong but wounded body leaning against the old chair, one leg bent on the seat, the other stretched out on the floor. The rinkaku was retracted, but her presence filled the attic, a silent threat that thickened the air. The mask still covered her face, black and cracked, the stylized wolf fangs gleaming with blood-red accents. But what caught Luka were her eyes—visible through the mask's jagged holes, they glowed a vivid red, like embers in a fire, slicing through the dimness and pinning him with an intensity that stopped him mid-step.
He froze, the coat slipping slightly in his grip, his heart racing again. Those eyes weren't human. They were ghoul eyes, predator eyes, the kind he'd seen in blurry newspaper photos, the kind nurses laughed about over cigarettes. She didn't say a word, just stared, her silence louder than any scream. Luka felt fear claw up his throat, a bitter taste that made him want to run, but his legs wouldn't move. He was trapped there, in his own attic, with something that could tear him apart—and that, for some stupid reason, he'd decided to save.
Luka stood frozen at the attic's entrance, the gray coat slipping down his arm, his eyes locked on hers—red, glowing like embers through the mask's jagged holes. The air felt thick, suffocating, heavy with the scent of dried blood and old dust. Hana didn't move, perched on his desk, her strong but battered body relaxed in a way that seemed deceptively casual, like an animal biding its time before striking. The leg bent on the chair creaked under her weight, and her black hair fell in wet strands around the mask, dripping water onto the desk's surface. The silence was a knife in Luka's chest, each second stretching the fear clawing up his throat.
He opened his mouth, but the sound came out weak, almost a whisper. "I… I brought your coat." His voice trembled, and he raised his arm slowly, the blood-soaked fabric swaying like a white flag. Her eyes didn't blink, the red slicing through the dimness, and Luka's stomach churned. "Who… who are you?" he managed to ask, the words tumbling out as he took a step back, his heel hitting the retractable ladder.
Hana tilted her head, the mask following the motion, the broken wolf fangs of the stylized design glinting under the faint light of the bulb. For a moment, she didn't answer, her silence weighing heavier than any threat. Then her voice came, hoarse and cutting, as if each word had to claw its way out: "Hana. My name's Hana." It was simple, direct, but laced with something Luka couldn't name—anger, exhaustion, maybe both. She straightened, the chair creaking louder, and her red eyes narrowed through the mask's holes. "And you're the idiot who brought me here."
Luka swallowed hard, his heart pounding so fiercely he thought she could hear it. "I'm Luka," he said, almost by reflex, his hands clutching the coat tighter. "I didn't mean to… I mean, you were bleeding, I just…" He trailed off, the words dying in his mouth as her gaze pierced him. "You're a ghoul, right? Like in the papers. The ones who… who eat people." His voice faltered at the end, fear seeping into every syllable.
Hana laughed—a low, dry sound that was more growl than mirth. "Congrats, kid. Took you long enough to figure it out." She slid off the chair, her bare feet hitting the floor with a soft thud, but the rinkaku stirred behind her, black tentacles rising like living shadows, their sharp tips gleaming red. Luka stumbled back, his body hitting the attic wall, the coat dropping to the floor with a wet slap. She took a step forward, her frame still shaky from her wounds but radiating a strength that made him feel small. "You know what I am. You know what I can do. So why am I still alive here, and you're not running?"
"Because I saved you!" Luka blurted, his voice rising in a panicked pitch. "You were in the alley, bleeding, those guys were after you. I couldn't just leave you there!" He waved his hands, fingers trembling, trying to explain what he didn't even understand himself. "I don't know why I did it, okay? I'm a coward, I should've run, but… but I couldn't."
Hana stopped, her tentacles hovering in the air, inches from him. The mask stared at him, a black-and-red void, but her ghoul eyes seemed to weigh every word. "Coward, huh?" she murmured, her voice low but sharp. "But dumb enough to bring a ghoul home. Are you an idiot or just suicidal?" She stepped closer, the rinkaku inching forward, one tentacle brushing his leg, its sharp tip slicing through the fabric of his pants without touching skin. Luka held his breath, his entire body shaking, eyes wide as he stared at death millimeters away.
"Please don't kill me," he whimpered, tears streaming down his face now, hot and salty. "I won't tell anyone, I swear, I—"
"Shut up," Hana snapped, the rinkaku rising higher, its tip hovering near his throat, her heat scorching the air. "You won't tell anyone because I won't let you. But I'm not killing you. Not yet." She tilted her head, her red eyes glinting with something like cold calculation. "You saved me, so I'll give you a chance. A deal."
Luka blinked, sweat dripping down his forehead, his heart racing so fast he thought he might pass out. "A… a deal?" he stammered, his voice nearly gone.
"You let me stay here," Hana said, her tone hard, each word a command. "Hide me in your house until I heal and the CCG stops sniffing around. In return, I won't rip your head off and eat your guts in front of your mom." The rinkaku shifted again, its tip tracing an invisible line near his throat, and she stepped closer, the mask almost brushing his face. "But there's more. I've been out of the world for years. Locked up, tortured, while everything changed. You're gonna catch me up—tech, streets, how things work now. Everything I don't know. If you try to trick me or turn me in, I'll kill you before you can scream. Got it?"
Luka nodded frantically, his head bobbing like a broken puppet, fear swallowing him whole. "Okay, okay, I get it! I'll let you stay, I'll hide you, I'll tell you everything, I swear!" His voice was a thread, his body pressed against the wall, eyes darting between the tentacles and the mask. "Just don't hurt me, please…"
Hana went silent for a second, her red eyes boring into him, as if testing the truth in his words. Then the rinkaku slowly withdrew, the tentacles retreating to her back, and she stepped back, her body relaxing slightly but still alert. "Good," she muttered, her voice hoarse but firm. "First rule: no one comes up here. Second: you don't touch me unless I say so. Third: I want food tomorrow. Meat. Raw. Don't ask where it's from." She returned to the desk, sitting again with a low groan of pain, her eyes still locked on him. "Now get out. And close that damn ladder."
Luka didn't need another warning. He grabbed the coat off the floor with trembling hands, stumbling down the retractable ladder as he descended, his heart still racing, his mind reeling with her name—Hana—and the weight of the deal he'd just agreed to. He yanked the ladder shut with a quick pull, the creak echoing in the hallway, and stood there, leaning against the wall, sweat and tears mixing on his face as he tried to process what had just happened.