The room breathed in shallow, uneven gasps. Every sound—every shift of cloth or scrape of shoe—felt too loud against the hush.

Max stood by the broken window, eyes narrowed on the dark corridor beyond. Shards of glass crunched faintly under his boots as the faint city light flickered through the gap in the blinds. He scanned like a man who knew danger didn't always announce itself.

Victor paced at the door in tight, restless arcs, his shoulders hunched forward, claws half-formed. Each turn was precise, like a predator making sure the exits were still where they belonged.

Dan knelt beside the three teens. His golden aura had dulled to a muted glow, steady but thinner now, as if it cost him to keep it alive.

Jack perched on the edge of Liz's bed. The IV pole rested in his hands like a baseball bat, its weight awkward, his knuckles pale against the metal. He stared at the floor, knees jittering with a tremor he couldn't hide.

Chloe hadn't moved from her place beside Liz. One hand rested against the bedframe, fingertips curled against the wood, her gaze never leaving her friend's face.

Alyssa sat near the foot of the bed, her chair angled toward the vent, jaw locked, eyes fixed on it like a sniper lining up a shot. If it twitched, she'd see it.

No one spoke.

Jack broke first, coughing once—sharp and too loud in the stillness. "So…" His voice cracked, half-nervous, half-trying-for-a-joke. "Do we… talk about the spider nightmare that tried to eat us, or just, you know… repress that forever?"

Alyssa shot him a look. It was tired, not sharp. Chloe let out a shaky laugh, the sound paper-thin, and it died almost instantly.

Max finally turned from the window. "That wasn't the last one," he said, voice even but heavy. "There are more."

Jack's face flickered. "More spiders?"

Max's gaze moved from one pale face to the next. "What you saw—what attacked you—are demons. I didn't believe in them two days ago either. But they're real. And now they seem to be after us."

That made the room feel smaller.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "After us? Like… personally?"

Max's mouth twitched, but there was no humour in it. "Feels that way."

Victor, still pacing, threw him a sideways look. "Hey, could be worse. You could've seen my cooking."

Jack snorted once—quick, almost involuntary. Alyssa didn't crack a smile.

Dan stayed crouched near them, voice level and calm. "I can help. I can heal. You're not alone in this."

Alyssa shifted her weight, folding her arms tight. "So, Liz isn't sick—she's cursed or something?"

The words seemed to hit Chloe harder than the others. She blinked, as if deciding whether to speak. Her gaze stayed locked on Liz, her voice hesitant. "Before she collapsed, she told me something. Said she was going to do… a Contract."

Max's head snapped toward her. "What?" The word came out sharper than he intended.

Chloe flinched but kept going. "She said it like it was a big deal. Capital C. I didn't understand what she meant. I thought she was messing around. Or maybe she just…" She trailed off, pressing her lips together.

Max's eyes narrowed, the muscle in his jaw tightening as a shadow passed over his expression.

"Just what?" Alyssa asked.

"Maybe she just missed her mum," Chloe said. "She told me she wanted to see her again. Said there was a way." Chloe's voice dropped lower, words almost catching in her throat. "I thought she was being dramatic, you know? Liz has always been… Liz. I didn't believe her."

Max's gaze shifted to Liz, and for the first time since coming into the room, he looked less like a fighter and more like someone weighing the cost of something he couldn't take back.

"I didn't know she meant this," Chloe said. Her eyes were wet now, but she kept them on her friend. "I didn't know she'd actually…"

No one rushed to speak.

It wasn't the quiet of people stunned into silence. It was the kind of stillness that came when you realised there was no way back to how things were an hour ago.

Jack rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers jittery, the movement more nervous than casual. "This is… way above my pay grade." The laugh that followed was thin, a sound that wanted to be a joke but sagged halfway there.

He looked at Chloe. "Remember when Liz dared us to stay overnight in that haunted theatre—the Roxy?"

Her eyebrows lifted a fraction. "You wet yourself when the curtain moved."

"It moved by itself," he said, leaning into the protest like it might salvage his dignity.

She didn't mean to smile, but it happened anyway—small, reluctant, breaking through the tension without asking permission. Jack had that effect on her. Always afraid of everything, but always there. He was the kind of scared that still showed up. It was why Liz liked him. And why Chloe… liked him in a way she'd never said out loud. Not to Liz. Not to him. Maybe not even to herself.

"It was wind," Alyssa muttered from the corner, but her voice had softened, a ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth.

Jack shook his head slowly, letting the memory hang between them. "Point is—we've been scared before." He hesitated, eyes flicking to the torn vent, then back to them. "This is just… scarier."

The air between them felt different after that.

He straightened his shoulders like he was trying the idea on for size. "Still not leaving."

Chloe's chest pulled tight, and before she could think better of it, her fingers found his. Warm. Real. She held on like she could trap the moment in her palm, like letting go would make it vanish. She could still hear his nervous laugh from that night at the Roxy — breathless, pretending he wasn't scared when she'd seen right through him. Part of her wanted to tell him now, right here, that she'd liked him longer than she'd ever admitted. But the words stayed locked behind her teeth, because saying them would make it sound like goodbye.

The vent gave a long, low groan.

Max's head snapped toward it, every muscle wired tight. Victor stopped mid-stride, claws half-shifted. Dan straightened, the glow under his skin flaring hotter, sharper.

Click. Clickclick. Clickclickclickclick.

The sound skittered down the walls, too fast to be footsteps, too deliberate to be anything else.

Max's arm came up, Soulfire coiling around it in molten ribbons. "Behind me. Now."

The wall above Liz's bed shuddered. Screamed. Metal warped outward in slow, agonised bends. Dust rained from the seams.

Something pushed from the other side. Something that had found its way back.

And the nightmare forced its way through.

***

It came back wrong.

Not with a scream or a roar, but with a silence so heavy it pressed the air flat in their lungs.

The vent above Liz's bed bulged outward, metal groaning under invisible weight. A jagged screech tore through the room as screws sheared, skittering across the tile. Then something slid out of the dark.

A limb. Too long. Too thin. Black as oil and jointed like a praying mantis, the surface gleaming wet in the light.

Max threw his arm up on instinct, a wall of Soulfire sparking into life—just in time for the demon to drop.

It hit the floor with a sound that wasn't a thud so much as a splat—like meat thrown onto concrete. This time it was taller, its spine bent high like a scorpion's tail, its arms dragging along the ground, claws leaving hairline scratches in the tile. Where a face should have been was only ruin: lips peeled back to a rictus grin, no eyes, just hollow sockets weeping slow streams of black fluid.

And it was looking at them. Not with eyes—just knowing.

"Back!" Max barked, Soulfire flaring along his forearm.

The demon hissed, the sound like steam hitting a hot pan, but it didn't retreat. Not this time.

It lunged.

Victor was already moving—a blur of muscle and claws. The floor cracked under his momentum as he slammed into the thing's chest, driving it back into the corner. Cabinets exploded into twisted metal, glass shards raining down like hail.

He tore into it, one, two, three deep slashes but it moved like water and bone, slipping and twisting out of the worst of the damage.

Then it reared back.

Its mouth opened far too wide. And it spat.

A stream of black bile shot forward, hissing as it cut the air. Victor roared as it splashed across his face, staggering sideways, claws scraping for purchase.

"Max—!" Dan shouted, golden light bursting from his palm in a rippling wave. It hit the bile mid-air, scattering droplets into harmless steam before they could hit the others. "It's not scared anymore!"

Max's fists clenched, fire racing down his arms, but he didn't strike—Chloe, Alyssa, and Jack were too close. "Alyssa, Chloe, Jack—corner! Now!"

Alyssa grabbed Chloe's arm, dragging her toward the wall. Jack followed—two steps—then stopped.

His eyes went to Liz.

Still. Unmoving. Fragile under the flickering light.

The demon saw where he was looking.

And it changed direction.

It didn't hesitate, didn't even blink—just coiled and sprang.

Max moved. So did Dan. Victor pushed through the burning in his eyes. But none of them were close enough.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

Jack was.

He stepped between the bed and the demon, IV pole clutched in both hands like a spear.

"NO!" he shouted, and it wasn't fear this time—it was fury.

The demon didn't slow. The claw went straight through him.

Right through his chest.

The sound was wet and deep and final.

For a second, the world stopped.

Alyssa's scream shattered the silence. Chloe's knees gave way, hitting the floor hard, the flowers tumbling from her hands. Her mind refused the image—Jack wasn't supposed to bleed, wasn't supposed to fall. He was supposed to be the one making jokes after the danger passed. Not… this.

Jack looked down. His hands were red.

The IV pole slipped from his fingers, clattering across the tile.

He leaned forward into the demon's grip—face pale, eyes wide, a breath catching in his throat but never leaving it. The thing held him there like a prize, like it wanted them all to see what bravery bought.

Then it let go.

Jack fell.

The sound he made when he hit the ground wasn't a scream. It was a dull, heavy thud—a body without strength to catch itself. Blood pooled fast, too fast, spreading under him in a dark, unstoppable bloom.

Max's thoughts stuttered, tripped, failed to land on anything but no.

Dan was already there, sliding through the blood to reach him, hands flaring gold. "No. No. Stay with me—you're not done yet."

Victor roared behind them, tearing into the demon again, his claws a blur of violence.

But Max… Max still couldn't move.

Jack—just a dumb, awkward kid who carried a paper crane in his pocket and walked into haunted buildings even when he was scared—was lying on the floor, dying in front of him.

And the only thing Max could think was that it wasn't supposed to happen like this.

Not to him.

***

The demon never saw Max coming.

One heartbeat, it had Jack in its claws—limbs hooked through him like a butcher's meat hooks, holding him up as if to show off the kill. Jack's blood ran down its arm in thin, glistening lines.

The next heartbeat, Max hit it.

He didn't shout. He didn't give it warning. He simply drove into it like a meteor breaking atmosphere, soulfire detonating around his fists in a blinding surge of gold and yellow.

The impact tore the demon away from Jack, slamming it into the far wall hard enough to spiderweb the tile. Its limbs flailed, claws scraping shrill notes from steel, but the fire clung to it—alive, devouring, judging.

Max closed the distance in a stride. His face was carved from something older than rage. No words. No breath wasted.

His fist punched through its chest. Bone gave way. Ribs cracked like brittle ice.

The thing screamed—high, wet, desperate—and tried to claw at him, slicing open his side. Max didn't flinch.

"You touched them," he said. The words were low, flat. Meant for the demon alone.

He seized its head with both hands, claws raking harmlessly over his arms, and drove it down into the floor.

Once. The impact boomed through the room. Again. The tiles fractured. A third time—its scream cut off mid-note.

The hellfire roared, spreading from his grip into the demon's skull, rushing down through the twisted mockery of its body. Smoke poured from its mouth, its sockets, from cracks splitting its skin like overfired clay.

It twitched. Convulsed. Collapsed into itself.

Then it was nothing.

Ash. Bone dust. A charred outline on the floor where something had once stood.

The air still hummed with heat. Plastic on the IV stand sagged and warped from the temperature. The edge of Jack's hoodie was singed.

Max stood over the remains, chest rising and falling in heavy, deliberate breaths. A thin line of blood slid from his jaw, disappearing into the grime on his neck. He didn't seem to notice.

Behind him, Dan's voice cracked the moment. "Max!"

Max turned.

Dan was kneeling in blood—Jack's blood—hands pressed to the boy's chest. Golden light bled from his palms in urgent, stuttering waves, trying to knit flesh that refused to knit.

"Still alive," Dan gasped. "Barely. I can fix this—I can—"

Max was already at his side, dropping to his knees.

"Don't you dare do this to me, kid," Dan breathed, the words slipping out before he realised they were aloud. "Not after tonight. Not like this." His hands pressed harder, golden light spilling in erratic bursts, as though the power itself was panicking.

The sight made something cold grip his spine. Jack's body looked wrong—one side of his chest caved in, his stomach ripped open, blood soaking through a wadded towel that had already turned black with it. His breathing came in shallow, wet pulls. His lips were pale.

Dan's glow grew brighter, almost painful to look at, his jaw set with a desperation that shook through his arms. "Come on, kid. Stay with me. I've got you."

Jack coughed, a thin thread of red spilling from the corner of his mouth. His eyes cracked open—just a sliver.

They moved from Max… to Dan… to Liz, still lying unconscious in her bed.

His lips parted. No sound.

Max leaned closer. "What is it?"

Jack's whisper was barely there. "Did… she see?"

And then the air went out of him.

His body stilled.

The light under Dan's hands flickered. Died.

"No." Dan's voice was hoarse. "No, no, no—" He pushed harder, pouring more of himself into the glow. "Come on, Jack. Don't do this."

But Max already knew. He'd seen that stillness before.

The room seemed to pull in around them, sound and space tightening to a single point. The only movement was the slow spread of blood beneath Jack's body, finding every imperfection in the floor.

Max reached out, pressing a hand to Dan's shoulder—not to comfort, but to anchor. "Dan."

"I can still feel something—"

"Dan."

The healer's hands shook. The light flared one final time, bright enough to blind. And then—nothing. Just skin. Just silence.

Dan sagged forward, catching himself before he collapsed over Jack entirely. The golden glow was gone. So was the boy beneath it.

Max looked down at the small, awkward kid who had walked into this room afraid—and still stood between a demon and the people he cared about.

Jack hadn't run. He'd chosen to stand.

And now he was gone.

***

Dan didn't move.

He was on his knees in the blood, both hands locked over Jack's chest, golden light pulsing between his fingers in desperate, uneven bursts. Sweat slicked his hair to his forehead. His breathing came in quick, shallow draws, but he kept pouring the glow into the boy beneath him as if sheer will could force a miracle.

It was the first time he'd tried.

The first time it had mattered this much.

And it wasn't working.

"Come on…" His voice cracked, low and shaking. "Breathe for me. Just… breathe."

Jack didn't.

The light curled across shredded skin, slid between ribs, sank into the yawning wound that split his side, but it wasn't reaching him. His eyes were fixed, glassy. His chest stayed still. The air was leaving him.

Dan's jaw clenched. "No. I can do this. I have to." His voice was hoarse, but his hands stayed firm, pouring gold into the torn chest beneath them. The light pulsed hard, then faltered. "I've felt this work — broken ribs, punctured lungs — I fixed them." He forced more power through, the glow shaking as if it resisted him. His shoulders trembled with the strain, sweat slicking his hair to his forehead, but he pushed again, teeth bared against the truth creeping in.

The light stuttered. His shoulders shook.

"But this is different," he whispered. "He's not just hurt. He's—"

The word lodged in his throat. He refused to say it.

He pushed harder.

The glow flared bright, so intense it painted the walls in molten gold.

Chloe's sob in the corner broke the rhythm. Not for Liz. Not just for Liz. For every time Jack had made her laugh when she didn't want to. For every time she'd hidden how much she liked him, telling herself Liz came first. For every moment she'd thought there would be more time.

Alyssa held her tight, white-knuckled on her sister's jacket, eyes locked anywhere but the bed. Looking would mean breaking.

Victor stayed at the door, still and grim, watching the hallway like a sentinel.

"Dan—" Max's voice was low, but firm.

"Not yet," Dan snapped.

His vision blurred. His hands were shaking now, light flickering across his palms. He knew healing. This wasn't healing. This was trying to drag someone back across a line no one crossed.

And it was killing him.

Max crouched beside him. "You can't bring back what's already gone."

Dan's eyes burned. "I can feel something. A spark. A thread. It's there. I swear it's still there—"

"Dan," Max said quietly. "It's not."

The golden light erupted one last time—a blinding flare, so bright it felt like the sun had broken into the room.

Then it shattered.

No explosion. No crack. It simply stopped. Faded, like the power itself had decided it couldn't do what was being asked.

Dan sagged forward, catching himself on his palms. The glow was gone. So was Jack.

Max's hand came to rest on his shoulder, firm but not heavy. "It wasn't your fault."

"I was given this for a reason," Dan rasped, voice raw. "To save people. That's what this meant."

"You did save people," Max said. "Victor. Chloe. Alyssa. You'll save more."

Dan shook his head, eyes glassy. "But not him."

Victor crossed the room, silent, and knelt. He pulled a blanket from an overturned gurney and draped it over Jack—covering the torn shirt, the wounds, and finally, his eyes.

Max looked at the boy beneath the cloth. Awkward, too-eager Jack, who carried paper cranes in his pocket and stood his ground when it counted.

"Jack didn't run," Max said. "He stood between a demon and the people he cared about. That matters."

Chloe's breath caught. She whispered his name—just once. Not like a prayer. Like a farewell.

Alyssa tightened her arm around her. She didn't cry. She just held her sister like she could keep the pieces from coming apart.

She looked once at Liz—still asleep, still unaware of what had been lost for her sake. One day she'd wake up. And when she did, she'd open her eyes to a world without Jack. Without the boy who made cranes, told stupid ghost stories, and died on the floor to keep her safe.

Alyssa looked away, jaw tightening. The words they'd have to find for her could wait.

Dan stared at his hands like they weren't his anymore—like they'd been borrowed for a purpose and had failed to deliver. His voice was raw when it came.

"He was the first," he whispered. "And I couldn't save him."

Max's jaw tightened. He looked away, not because he couldn't face Dan, but because he could. He knew that weight, and the sharp edge of it was still lodged in his own ribs.

"I should've stopped it before it reached him," Max said quietly. "I should've kept him safe."

Dan's head lifted, grief and exhaustion etched deep into his face. "We both should have."

Max held his gaze for a long moment. The words that followed were heavy, deliberate. "Then we don't let it happen again. Not to anyone."

The room went still.

Outside, the city still screamed. But in here, a boy had died, and nothing would ever be the same.

***

They didn't move at first.

The golden light was gone. The demon was gone. But the smell of burned meat and ozone clung to the air, thick enough to taste.

Dan stayed on his knees beside the blanket-covered body, his palms flat on the floor now, head bowed. Sweat dripped from his chin into the dark stain beneath him. His hands still trembled—not from power now, but from the absence of it.

Victor leaned against the wall, back to the cracked window. His claws had receded, his bare chest was streaked with blood—some his, some not. The muscle in his jaw worked in slow, tight bursts, like he was chewing on a scream.

Alyssa sat on the floor with her knees pulled tight to her chest, one arm locked around Chloe. She hadn't let go since it happened. Her other hand gripped Liz's bedrail so hard her knuckles were white.

Chloe's head rested against Alyssa's shoulder. She wasn't crying anymore. Just staring at the still rise of the blanket over Jack's chest, like she could memorize it before it went flat forever.

Max stood apart from them all, near the far wall. His fists were still clenched, his knuckles split and bleeding. Blood tracked down his wrists, dripping off his fingers onto the linoleum in slow, uneven drops.

No one spoke.

Max broke the silence, but his voice had none of its usual command. It was low, raw. "We can't bury him. Not here. We'll… put him in a bed. Somewhere he belongs."

Victor's brow furrowed. "Why not alert the authorities now?"

Dan answered before Max could. "We will. But quietly. Anonymously."

Victor looked between them. "Anonymously? This is Singapore. Something like this happens, and you normally get half the Civil Defence Force here in minutes." His eyes narrowed. "So why aren't they?"

Max glanced toward the ruined vent. "Because of them."

Victor tilted his head.

"The demons," Max said. "They don't just kill. They… do something to people. Everyone here is unconscious. Probably never even knew what was happening."

Victor's jaw tightened, the pieces clicking together. "So, we're standing in the middle of a ghost building, and the only ones awake are us."

Dan nodded grimly. "Which means if we wait too long, more of them might show up. We need to move fast."

They lifted Jack gently. Victor carried him, wrapped in a fresh sheet pulled from the supply cupboard. Max led the way, scanning every corner as though expecting another claw to come tearing through the wall.

The corridors were empty. Not just empty—dead. The flicker of half-dead fluorescents made their footsteps sound louder, sharper. Somewhere in the distance, a cart wheel turned lazily, moved by nothing.

They found an unused ward—white walls, untouched beds, the smell of disinfectant hanging stale in the air. Victor laid Jack down with a care that looked wrong in someone his size. Dan smoothed the sheet over him, covering him from the chest down.

Chloe's hand was still closed around the paper crane. She hesitated, then stepped forward and placed it on Jack's chest. Her fingers lingered there longer than she meant to. Alyssa came beside her, setting down the bent IV pole head like an offering.

Dan cleared his throat, his voice steady but softened. "The authorities will find him here. I'll make sure of it. I'll call it in once we're gone, say there's a casualty that needs collecting."

Chloe's eyes snapped to him. "That's it? We just leave him?"

Max stepped forward, his expression tight. "No. I'll tell his parents. But not now. Not while we're here. This place isn't safe for them—hell, it's not safe for any of us. The longer we stay, the more likely we attract another one of those things."

Alyssa's voice cut in, sharp and shaking. "So it is your fault."

Chloe's head snapped up, the heat in her chest spiking so fast it made her dizzy. Not just at Alyssa's words — at Max for standing there and wearing the blame like it was already carved into stone. At the night itself. At the fact Jack was gone and nothing could undo it. "It's not that simple," she shot back, the edge in her voice cutting sharper than she meant. But even as it left her, a colder truth slid in beneath the anger — the same accusation Alyssa had made, only quieter, turning over and over in her own mind.

But Max didn't deny it. He didn't even flinch.

"I'm the reason they're here," he said, quiet but steady. "And I'm the reason Jack— the reason Jack died. That's the truth. And it doesn't change what needs to happen next."

They stood around Jack's bed in silence, the sheet and the crane the only marks of who he had been. Dan rested a hand on the blanket. "We can't give him the goodbye he deserves. Not now. But we can promise not to waste what he did for us."

Chloe's jaw tightened. Alyssa put an arm around her, pulling her in.

Max looked one last time at the boy who had stood where no one expected him to. "You didn't run," he said quietly. "That's how we'll remember you. That's the part that lasts."

They left together, their footsteps fading into the dead-silent hallways.

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