[Kael – Inside the Closet]
The inside of the closet was dark, quiet, and just wide enough for Kael to pull his knees to his chest. He'd found clothes that fit—more or less—and slipped into them before making the emergency call. Nothing too flashy. He'd seen himself in the mirror briefly. He looked just like any scared kid should.
Now came the hard part: the act.
He slowed his breathing and tried to look small. Fragile. The opposite of what he truly was.
'I'm a child' , he thought, 'who saw my parents die. I don't know them. I don't know who I am. I don't remember anything. Just fear.'
He repeated that story in his mind again and again. Rehearsing the expression. The silence. The blank stares. It had to be believable. The moment anyone suspected something strange, it would all fall apart. And he wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
Footsteps outside.
They creaked against the floorboards of the old house. One pair. Heavy, deliberate. Kael felt the vibrations in his chest, in the wood against his back. He didn't move.
'It's starting.
Calm down.
Just follow the plan.'
The footsteps got closer. Then stopped.
[POV Shift – Unknown Individual]
The front door had been ajar when he arrived.
'The dispatcher said it was a child's voice on the 911 call—barely coherent, panicked. Claimed something terrible had happened. No further details. No name. Just a street address in a quiet, dead-end road on the outskirts of the city.'
His pistol was already drawn when he stepped into the house.
Inside, it was colder than expected. Silent.
And then he saw the bodies.
Two adults—male and female—ripped open, slashed with something… unnatural. Deep claw marks ran along the walls and furniture like an animal had lost control. Blood stained the floor, dark and dried. No signs of forced entry. Whatever had happened, it happened fast.
He scanned the space, jaw tight.
"Jesus…"
His radio buzzed quietly. "Baines, anything?"
He pressed the mic at his collar. "Hold. Still clearing."
Then he saw the closed door down the hallway—smaller than the rest. A closet, maybe. He approached slowly, gun up, finger steady.
The door creaked open.
Inside, huddled in the shadows, was a kid. Small, pale, dark hair in his eyes. His clothes were clean, but the look on his face was… blank. Not even tears. Just stillness.
Baines narrowed his eyes, lowering the gun slightly but keeping it ready.
"What's your name, kid?"
The boy stared up at him. "I… I don't know."
Barnes blinked. There was something strange in the boy's tone—not robotic, but too steady. Too calm.
He looked him over. No visible injuries. Breathing normally. His posture—tense, but controlled.
'Still… he looks like a kid. Maybe ten? Eleven?'
Barnes holstered his sidearm and crouched down slowly.
"Hey, it's alright," he said. "You're safe now. Just calm down."
The kid nodded quietly.
Barnes pressed his mic. "This is Officer Barnes. Scene's clear. Two deceased. One survivor."
A voice crackled back. "Understood. EMS on the way. Hold position."
He looked at the kid again, this time really looking. There was something strange about him. His skin was warm-toned, almost flushed… and his eyes. Not panicked. Not dull. Alert. Watching.
And the way he talked—it wasn't like someone in shock. It was like someone trying to look like they were in shock.
Still, Baines wasn't going to press him. Not here. Not now.
"Let's get you out of there, alright?" he said, offering a hand.
The kid hesitated for a moment.
Then slowly, he took it.