Erebus goes to work after leaving the cemetery.

  He follows his routine as if nothing inside him has shifted.

  A short exchange with Lucas—polite, surface-level, nothing that lingers.

  Later, he meets Nixi. They talk about ordinary things. They laugh. They sit close.

  Yet the conversation remains light, contained, safe.

  Nothing heavy is allowed to surface.

  He returns to his apartment.

  The mess greets him immediately.

  Maps spread across the table.

  Routes marked carefully.

  Tools laid out with quiet precision.

  Everything is ready.

  Except him.

  He sits on the couch and stares at it all for a long time.

  Asks himself whether what he felt yesterday was only a passing impulse.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  He thinks of the police.

  Of a body.

  Of disappearance.

  Of things that do not erase themselves.

  For a brief moment, he decides to do nothing.

  He stands and begins to tidy the room, as if burying the thought itself.

  But when he places the map onto the shelf, something slips and falls to the floor.

  Metallic.

  Light.

  A ring.

  He bends and picks it up.

  Old silver.

  Faded engravings.

  A shape that carries no obvious meaning.

  He remembers a hand larger than his own.

  A voice, steady and firm:

  "Keep it, my son. This is important."

  He doesn't remember the ring from before.

  But now—holding it—he remembers everything.

  Not why he wants to kill.

  But why he could never stop thinking about it.

  He tightens his grip and slips the ring onto his finger.

  This is it.

  He leaves and buys the equipment from different places.

  Gloves.

  Clothes.

  Bags.

  He thinks of routes.

  Industrial waste near the factory.

  The noise that hides many things.

  The smells no one ever questions.

  When he returns home, he reviews the plan one last time.

  Then he realizes something.

  This is no longer a plan.

  Whatever happens next... it has grown teeth.

  He waits until midnight.

  This time, there is no excitement.

  Only fear.

  Real fear—the kind that makes the body slower than the mind.

  He slips into the factory.

  Two men are working inside.

  He freezes.

  He had planned for one.

  Then an older man enters, followed by two others—through the same door Erebus used.

  Five.

  He hides.

  One of the men moves to check the area.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  Erebus tries to hold his breath, but his lungs forget the rhythm.

  A sharp inhale escapes him.

  Then an uncontrolled exhale.

  His body breathes before he allows it.

  Suddenly, a rat bursts from the debris.

  The man jumps back.

  A gunshot.

  The sound does not fade.

  It lodges itself inside Erebus's head, louder than the silence that follows.

  He presses his hands to his ears too late.

  The noise has already entered.

  The three men move deeper inside, toward the others.

  Erebus remains where he is.

  For the first time, he understands that this night will not go as he imagined.