The note was still in my hand, creased and slightly damp from how tightly I'd been holding it. No name. No signature. Just an address—and the kind of weight that made it feel more like a loaded gun than a piece of paper.
Eve stood near the window, arms folded, her silhouette outlined in soft gray light. She stared out like she could see whatever waited at the end of that address.
"I'm gonna call her," I said. "The detective. Maybe she can help."
Eve didn't turn. "If you show her something real, she'll listen."
I scrolled to the number on the card and hit call.
She picked up fast. "Detective Yeomin."
"Hey. Uh—it's me. Ark. The guy from earlier. Animal attack thing."
A pause. "Yes. What's happened?"
"I found an address. No context, just… it feels important. Like something's about to go down there."
"You found it how?"
"It's a long story. And I promise, you won't believe it."
Another pause. I expected disbelief, maybe a laugh. Instead: silence.
"I'm not asking for a raid or a SWAT team or anything," I said. "Just… if I go and something's real, can I send you proof? Photos. Video. Evidence."
"If you find something credible," she said slowly, "send it to this number. But do not go in. Wait for confirmation."
"No spontaneous heroics. Got it."
"I'm serious."
"Me too," I said. "Mostly."
She exhaled. "Be careful."
The line clicked off.
"She said to be careful," I told Eve. "Which, as you know, clearly means we're about to do something monumentally reckless."
"You don't have to go," she said without looking at me.
"Yeah," I muttered. "That's the part that makes me feel like I should."
Slipping out of the hospital wasn't hard. No alarms, no security. Just a hoodie, determination, and Eve walking beside me like a reluctant accomplice.
"I can't believe this actually worked," I whispered.
"I can't believe you're still wearing a hospital gown under that hoodie," she muttered. "You look like an escaped extra from a canceled sci-fi show."
"It's called fashion," I said. "Also, I couldn't find my pants."
We kept walking. The noise of the city gave way to quiet neighborhoods. The kind with flower boxes, wind chimes, and that weird middle-class aura that whispered, Nothing shady ever happens here.
"This the place?" Eve asked as we stopped in front of a modest gray house.
"Straight from the world's creepiest nurse delivery service."
"Looks cozy," she said. "Like someone's baking cookies inside."
"Or summoning a demon. Could go either way."
We circled around the back, crouching near a small basement window. I wiped the glass with my sleeve and peered in.
My breath hitched.
Seven people. Robes. Chalk circle glowing faintly. Candles flickering. Shadows dancing along the walls like they were alive.
And at the center—a massive white feathered wing.
Too real to be fake.
Beside it… a severed hand.
"Okay," I whispered. "That's not cookies."
Eve leaned in, squinting. "That's… is that real?"
"I think we're way past cosplay."
I pulled out my phone and started recording. Caught a few seconds of the scene, then sent it to Yeomin with a short message:
> Cult ritual. Wing. Severed hand. This address. Basement.
Her reply came almost instantly:
> Officers dispatched. Do not enter. Stay hidden.
"Cops are coming," I told Eve. "So we chill here and enjoy the illegal séance."
"For once," she muttered, "you're not charging into something suicidal."
We crouched there, the cold ground seeping into my knees. The air was still. Too still.
"You think they'll believe us?" Eve asked.
"They'll have to. I sent a video of some guy waving a severed hand like it's a birthday prop."
A long pause. Then, softer, "Don't do anything stupid."
I looked at her. "C'mon. Doing stupid things is my whole brand."
"I've only known you for two years," she said, "but I'm not ready to lose you yet."
That hit harder than I expected.
Before I could respond, sirens wailed in the distance.
Blue and red lights swept over the yard. Police cars pulled up in a screech. Officers stormed the house.
We ducked lower, hearts pounding.
One by one, cultists were dragged out.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
Six.
Not seven.
A sudden crack echoed from inside the house, like thunder splitting concrete.
Then fire.
Flames burst from the windows. Officers shouted.
And then—like the world hiccuped—a glowing tear ripped open in midair, right where the ritual circle had been. Floating. Warped. Alive.
A portal.
And in my head, a voice.
Clear. Cold. Certain.
[{Close it... or everything ends.}]
Just that. No introduction. No drama.
Like the universe had whispered a command straight into my bones.
I stood up.
Eve grabbed my arm. "Wait—what are you doing?!"
"I have to go in."
"Are you insane?!"
"Yes," I said. "But something's calling me. I can't ignore it."
She looked like she wanted to hit me. "Then promise me."
"I will."
"No. Say it."
"I promise I'll come back."
Her grip loosened.
The voice faded, but the weight of those words stayed behind.
I didn't wait.
I ran across the yard. Through the door. Past the stunned officers.
Inside, it was chaos. Smoke and heat and debris. But my eyes locked on the ritual circle.
The wing and hand were gone. But the symbols remained, glowing brighter than before.
Anchors.
I snatched up a broken chair leg and slammed it into the floor, tearing through the chalk lines. Sparks flew. The symbols hissed, flickering.
Again. Again. Scraping. Smashing.
Then everything froze.
The markings reversed. Light turned black, then vanished.
The portal shuddered, pulsed—
And exploded.
I was lifted from the ground.
Not like flying. Like being claimed.
"No—!"
Eve's voice echoed behind me.
I reached for the doorframe—
Too late.
The portal swallowed me whole.
And the world disappeared.