Questions Over Questions

Killian glanced at me as we stepped into the elevator, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "Ayin, aren't you scared?"

I sighed, staring at the elevator buttons as if they held answers. "A little, yeah. But fear doesn't change facts, does it? What was that thing? And is it connected to the mayor's murder or not? Until we know more, it's the only lead we've got."

The words hung between us, heavy and suffocating. Killian, uncharacteristically quiet, nodded as the elevator doors opened. We headed to the office car waiting for us.

The streets blurred past as we drove toward Hillbone Road, where the mayor's mansion loomed like a dark secret waiting to be unraveled. I stared out the window, my mind racing, but Killian's voice cut through my thoughts.

"So… did you accept his proposal?" he asked casually, though I could sense the curiosity behind his tone.

"Who? Oh, that silly boy? No way. Not my type," I replied, rolling my eyes. Then, unable to resist, I teased him, "Why? Worried about my love life now?"

He chuckled. "Not exactly. But hey, maybe we'll both die single."

I burst out laughing. "You're probably right. Guess we're doomed to forever loneliness."

Killian's grin widened. "Or maybe we should just marry each other, you know? Problem solved."

My laughter stopped abruptly, and I blinked, unsure if he was joking. For a second, the air between us felt… different.

Killian's eyes widened, and he waved his hands defensively. "Whoa! Don't take it seriously! Of course, it'd never work. We'd kill each other within a week."

The tension broke, and I laughed again, harder this time. "Oh my God, Killian! You and me? Yeah, no thanks. You're right—we'd absolutely destroy each other."

The rest of the drive passed in easier conversation, and soon we arrived at the grocery shop where the CCTV footage had been captured.

Killian hopped out, heading inside to chat with the employees. He's a natural at this—his charm, his easygoing nature—it's like people can't help but spill their secrets to him. Meanwhile, I wandered toward the mayor's house, my boots crunching on the gravel.

I traced the footage in my mind, the eerie silhouette of the creature standing on the roof. From this angle, it didn't add up. No pipes, no trees, nothing to climb. And the jump? Impossible to survive.

The scene replayed in my head as I circled the house, searching for anything—a clue, a sign. But all I found were dead ends. How could something like that exist here?

Finally, I climbed the creaky staircase to the roof. The wind whipped against my face as I scanned the area, but there was nothing. No footprints, no stray fibers. Nothing human, nothing animal. Just emptiness.

The mayor's death haunted me. Two bullets—one to the head, one to the heart. But if this… thing… was involved, then how? Could it fire a gun? My mind refused to reconcile the facts. A creature with hands? Paws? My thoughts spiraled as I descended back to the shop, where Killian was waiting.

"Anything?" he asked, his brows furrowed.

"No. Just more questions. You?"

He shook his head. "Nothing. It was late at night, the shop was closed, and no one saw anything unusual. Not even a dog. Well, maybe a really big dog."

"Not helping, Killian," I muttered, rubbing my temples.

As we debated our next move, my phone buzzed. Syrus.

"What?" I snapped, already bracing for her usual dramatics.

"You'd better come home. They're getting you married," she said, laughing.

"Not funny, Syrus."

"Oh, I'm dead serious. But don't come if you don't care. Your call." She hung up.

For a moment, I just stared at my phone. Married? Now? I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or cry.

"Killian, can you drop me home? Something's come up. We'll pick this up tomorrow."

He frowned but nodded. "Sure. Let's go."

By the time I walked into the house, it was 7 p.m. Syrus was sprawled on the couch, lazily flipping channels. Mom sat beside her, sewing like it was just another normal evening.

"Mom, what's going on? Am I really getting married?" I blurted out.

Mom didn't even glance up. "Yes. And what's wrong with that? Do you plan on working yourself to death? You don't date, don't socialize. It's time, Ayin. You're not getting any younger."

"Oh, not this speech again," I groaned.

"Yes, this speech again! Even your brother agrees. Tomorrow, they're coming, and we'll complete all the rituals and marriage here at home. You're not going anywhere until then. If you don't like it, talk to Max." 

Max. Of course. The one person I could never argue with. He'd been my rock—always supporting my dreams, my job, everything. If he'd agreed to this… then maybe he thought it was for the best. I retreated to my room, my mind in chaos. Who was this man they'd chosen? I didn't even ask. If Max had agreed to it, then I trusted him. He wouldn't pick someone for me lightly. But would the boy understand me, Ayin—the bold, brash journalist who chased monsters and mysteries for a living? Could he even keep up? And most of all, was I ready for this? 

As I sat on my bed, staring at the ceiling, the absurdity of it all hit me. I'd spent the day chasing a phantom killer, and now I was supposed to marry a stranger tomorrow.

The biggest question of all wasn't about the murder anymore. It was this: who on earth was coming tomorrow to take the forever oath with me?