A dull hum settled in Cassie's ears as she slowly blinked awake.
Her lashes fluttered against the soft pillow, her mind foggy. The scent of sandalwood and the muted tones of a minimalistic apartment met her senses. She sat up slowly, taking in the dark interior—Adrian's apartment.
She was in his bed.
Wrapped in a blanket, safe, unharmed.
It was still night, judging by the pale moonlight pouring in through the slanted window blinds. She pressed a hand to her chest.
The weight of the trinket was gone.
She remembered the panic. The shadows. Liya's cold voice. The terrifying pressure of the dark energy tightening around her. Her chest hitched.
"Was that all real?"
A cup of warm tea sat on the side table, and a note in Adrian's curt handwriting read:
"Sleep. You're safe now. Don't destroy my apartment. A"
Cassie's lips curved into a tired, grateful smile despite herself. She clutched the note, holding it against her chest.
"I knew you'd come," she whispered into the silence.
Elsewhere, in a dim-lit penthouse across the city...
Liya's apartment, once pristine, now reeked of chaos.
Curtains torn from the windows. Lights smashed. Glass littered the floor. The lavish rugs soaked in spilled wine, old food, and shattered memories.
Liya sat curled in a corner, her designer gown crumpled and stained, her hair wild. Her arms wrapped around herself, rocking as she whispered hoarsely.
"They won't stop… They won't stop looking at me."
Her once bright eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with black smudges. The ghosts hadn't left. Every reflection in mirrors, windows, even silver spoons showed them watching. Marcuk. The boy with the scholarship. The girl who used to sing backup for her. Faces she stole from.
They whispered through the silence.
"Thief… liar… murderer…"
The front door opened.
Julian, stormed in. He looked exhausted, shaken, his shirt crumpled, tie loosened.
"You have to stop this, Liya," he said firmly. "You're on every news channel. The company's dropped you. Sponsors are pulling out. The press is calling you insane."
Liya didn't answer. She stared at the space behind him, wide-eyed.
"Liya?" he tried again. "We can still fight this. But we need you to wake up."
She stood up slowly, her hands trembling.
"Why did you bring them with you…?"
"What?" Julian's brows furrowed.
"Them." She pointed at the empty space behind him. "Don't you see them? Don't pretend you don't see them!"
Julian froze. "Liya, there's no one there..."
She screamed and lunged toward the kitchen counter, grabbing a knife with a feral scream.
"YOU THINK I'LL LET YOU TAKE IT BACK TOO?!"
Julian backed away, hands raised. "Liya, stop it...put the knife down!"
But she didn't.
With a shriek, she lunged, driving the blade deep into his chest.
He gasped, stumbling back, eyes wide in disbelief. Blood soaked his shirt as he fell to the floor.
Liya stood panting, the knife shaking in her grip, her eyes darting around the room. "They made me do it… They made me…"
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Red and blue lights flickered through her windows.
The Next Morning...
Cassie sat cross-legged on Adrian's couch, a blanket over her shoulders and a steaming cup in her hands. Her eyes were glued to the TV.
"....breaking news. Former idol and international superstar Liya was arrested late last night after stabbing her longtime manager Julian. Authorities suspect a psychological breakdown following a string of erratic public appearances including a mental collapse on stage two days ago…"
Cassie's lips parted slightly.
She felt no triumph. Only a strange, hollow ache.
She had seen Liya's real face.
The girl behind the glitz. The madness behind the fame.
"Fallen from grace …" the reporter intoned, as the screen showed an old clip of Liya smiling brightly in an interview, contrasted with footage of her screaming during the arrest.
Cassie whispered, "She really… lost everything."
Adrian stepped in quietly, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. "There was no other outcome. Destiny stolen can never stay stable. The world reclaims what's been taken."
Cassie turned to him. "But what happens to her now?"
He looked at her for a long moment.
"She'll suffer. In this life... or the next."
Cassie stared into her tea, her voice soft. "Then it's over."
Adrian didn't answer. Instead, he walked to her and dropped a small candy into her cup.
"Sleep tonight. You'll need it."
"For what?"
He gave her that same deadpan look.
"For the next idiot ghost who's going to cry in your hallway."
Cassie couldn't help it but she laughed through the tears in her eyes.
And outside the window, Marcuk watched silently, finally at peace
The next day,
The alley smelled like rain and old paper.
The sun hadn't fully risen, casting a bluish hue over the cracked walls and sagging rooftops. Cassie stood still at the mouth of the alley, her heart caught in her throat as she watched the familiar figure pushing that same rickety cart - its squeaky wheels now a sound etched into her memory.
Marcuk's mother was out again. Frail, wrapped in a patched shawl, her hands calloused from years of sorting trash and hauling weight no human should have to. But she wasn't alone this time. A couple of neighbors helped her pile flattened cardboard, others brought small bags of rice or bentos wrapped in cloth.
Cassie didn't move at first. She just watched.
Then, slowly, she approached, careful not to startle her.
The older woman glanced up, her brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened.
"You… it's you," she said hoarsely. "You're the girl who ran after my cart that day. The one who almost got hit by a car."
Cassie smiled, lips trembling slightly. "Yeah. That was me."
The woman set down the bundle she was tying and stood, wiping her hands on her skirt before holding them together awkwardly. "I never got the chance to thank you properly. You were like an angel that day…"
Cassie shook her head, stepping closer. "You don't need to thank me."
There was a pause, a silence between them filled with unsaid things.
"I'm Cassie," she added gently. "I came today… because I knew your son."
The woman's breath hitched.
Cassie reached into her tote and carefully took out a sketch, a portrait of Marcuk mid-dance, arms in motion, eyes full of light and life.
The woman gasped, reaching out with trembling fingers. "Marcuk…"
Cassie's own eyes burned. "He was amazing. Not just as a dancer. As a person. He loved you more than anything."
The older woman blinked fast. "You saw him dance?"
Cassie nodded. "And I heard his story...from him."
At that, the woman's face crumbled. Her knees nearly gave way as she sat down hard on a worn wooden crate. "He had so many dreams. He used to say one day he'd dance on a real stage. Buy me a little house with sunlight and running water…"
"You gave him everything you could," Cassie said, kneeling before her. "You gave him love. That's more than many people ever get."
The woman wept, quietly at first, then with sobs so raw that Cassie could only reach out and hold her hand.
From behind them, unseen by anyone else, Marcuk's ghost stood watching his translucent figure bathed in the morning light. He didn't speak. He only watched, eyes wet with emotion.
Cassie turned slightly, sensing him.
They shared a final look.
Cassie smiled softly. "He's at peace now."
She pulled out an envelope from her bag, placing it in the woman's hands.
"It's from him," Cassie whispered. "I sold a painting inspired by his dance. It's not much, but I think… he'd want you to have it."
The woman opened it and gasped at the thick wad of cash. Her lips quivered. "I can't take this."
"You can," Cassie said. "It's part of his dream. Let him keep his promise."
The woman clutched the envelope like it was a lifeline, holding it to her chest as fresh tears fell.
"I see him sometimes in my dreams," she said softly. "Dancing, smiling… I always wake up crying."
Cassie gently squeezed her hand. "That's not a dream. That's him saying goodbye."
They sat there for a long while; two women brought together by a boy who once danced like he had wings.
By the time Cassie turned to leave, Marcuk was gone.
This time, for good.