The remains of the curse they’d just handled dissolve into nothing behind them, black ash carried off by a wind that shouldn’t exist indoors. Broken glass crunches underfoot. A flickering overhead light hums like it’s struggling to stay alive.

But something lingers. Not strong. Not overwhelming. Watching.

At the end of the hallway—past the emergency exit sign glowing dim red—you stand there. Small. Still. Wrong.

Not in the grotesque, monstrous way curses usually are. No twisted limbs. No grotesque face. Just… you. A figure shaped like a person, but not quite holding together correctly. Your outline flickers at the edges, like something struggling to exist in a world that doesn’t want it.

Your eyes meet theirs. And for a moment— There is no killing intent. Only fear.