Episode 4: Who’s Watching?

Ama sat on the park bench, her mind swirling with everything that had happened. Jade's murder, Kayol's death, Mark's accusations—it was all too much. Her own mind felt like a prison, trapping her with images she didn't want to see.

Atlas sat beside her, watching the kids playing in the distance. He turned his head toward her, his lips curling slightly.

"Don't you think I'm a bad omen for you and your people?"

Ama's body stiffened. The words hit like a bullet, a slow realization creeping up her spine.

She turned to face him, her breath shallow. Did he just… admit to something?

She stared at him, wide-eyed, fear crawling up her throat. But before she could react, Atlas suddenly—laughed.

A soft chuckle at first, then a full-on laugh, as if what he said was a joke. Ama's brows furrowed in confusion. Her heartbeat was still erratic, but Atlas? He was sitting there like it was nothing.

"Relax, Ama. You always look so serious, running away from someone… or yourself," he said, shaking his head.

Ama clenched her jaw. "I didn't ask for your opinion. So keep it to yourself."

She shot up from the bench, ready to leave.

"Alright, angry bird," Atlas teased, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Ama ignored him, walking away quickly. But as she moved further, something shifted in the air.

The warm sunlight of the park disappeared in an instant.

The sound of children laughing faded.

A heavy silence wrapped around her like a noose.

She blinked.

The world around her had changed.

She was no longer in the park.

Ama was now standing in a dark, abandoned place. The walls around her were cracked, and the floor beneath her feet felt damp. The stench of mold and something rotten filled the air.

Her breathing turned ragged.

She wasn't alone.

A scream tore through the silence.

Ama's body jolted. The scream came from the room ahead.

Her legs moved on their own, dragging her toward the sound. She reached the doorway and—

She froze.

It was her.

Ama.

Or at least, someone who looked exactly like her.

The other Ama sat on a rusted metal chair, her hands cuffed to the armrests, her legs chained. Water pooled around her ankles, dark and murky. Her skin was deathly pale, her lips cracked and dry. Her eyes were wide with terror as she struggled against the restraints, chains jingling.

She was screaming.

But not at Ama.

Ama's stomach dropped.

The real Ama wasn't the one she was screaming at.

It was something behind her.

Ama's body refused to turn, refused to look. But she could feel it. A presence. A figure standing right behind her.

A slow breath ghosted against her neck.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

No.

No, this wasn't real.

It couldn't be real.

A hand suddenly grabbed her shoulder.

Ama let out a strangled scream—

And snapped back to reality.

She was back in the street, her breath uneven, her body trembling. She was drenched in sweat, her clothes sticking to her skin.

Her heartbeat was hammering in her ears.

A vision. It was just a vision.

Ama ran.

She didn't care where she was going—she just needed to get away. The nausea, the fear, the racing thoughts—everything was too much. She burst into her house and slammed the door shut behind her.

"It's not real," she whispered, pressing her forehead against the door. "It's not real. It's not real."

She was talking to herself, repeating it over and over again like a mantra.

"Ama, calm down. Your visions are only 50% true."

She let out a shaky laugh. "You saw Kayol's murder, right? But Jade died. That means it's not accurate."

Her laughter died suddenly.

What if…

What if this one was true?

Ama's stomach twisted.

She turned, rushing to lock every window, every door. The paranoia was suffocating. She needed to feel safe.

Just as she slammed one of the windows shut—

A shadow moved outside.

Ama's blood ran cold.

She forced herself to look.

Her breath hitched.

Standing outside the window—

Was him.

The same man in black. The same killer.

Ama's hands trembled as she held onto the window frame, watching him closely. He didn't move.

Then—

He raised his hand.

And smashed it against the glass.

Ama screamed, stumbling backward.

The killer pressed his forehead against the window, his face still hidden by the darkness.

Then, he grinned.

Ama felt her stomach twist in horror.

She turned on her heels and ran to the backdoor. She needed to lock it before he got inside.

She reached it—

But before she could close it, a knife shot between the gap, blocking the door.

Ama let out a choked gasp.

She pushed with all her strength—

The killer pushed back.

For a moment, it was a battle of strength. Ama could feel her arms shaking as she struggled to keep him out.

Then—

Silence.

The pressure disappeared.

He was gone.

Ama's breath was ragged, her heart hammering. But before she could even recover, a loud bang echoed through the house.Someone was pounding against the front door.

No—

Not someone.

Something.

The banging grew louder, the entire door rattling under the force.

Ama's knees buckled.

She closed her eyes.

This was it.

She was going to die.

The door slammed open.

Footsteps.

Slow. Calculated. Approaching her.

Ama didn't dare look up.

A hand touched her shoulder.

"Ama?"

She gasped, her eyes snapping open.

Atlas stood before her, his brows furrowed with concern.

Ama's body went rigid.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was him.

It had to be him.

The killer disappeared, and suddenly, Atlas was here?

It made sense.

It all made perfect sense.

Ama stumbled back, her hands trembling.

Atlas took a step forward, confused. "Ama, what's wrong?"

"D-Don't come near me."

Atlas's eyes darkened. "What?"

"I know it was you." Her voice was barely a whisper. "You killed Jade. And you were there when I was chased. Now I see the killer, and suddenly you appear."

Atlas stared at her.

Then, his expression softened.

"I don't know what's happening to you, but I came because you were screaming. The whole neighborhood probably heard you. I was worried, so I came to check."

Ama's breath slowed.

Atlas wasn't angry. He wasn't defensive.

Was she… wrong?

Ama lowered her head, her mind spinning. "I… I swear, someone was here."

Atlas glanced around the house, checking every corner—the windows, the doors, behind the furniture. His movements were careful, methodical, as if he was proving something to both of them.

After a while, he turned back. "There's no one, Ama."

Ama swallowed.

It didn't make sense.

She saw him. The killer was here.

And yet…

There was no sign of him.

Her fingers trembled as she clutched the fabric of her sleeves. Maybe… maybe it really was all in her head. Maybe her visions were getting worse.

Atlas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "You're not okay. I can see it."

"I—" Ama started, but her throat felt dry. What could she even say? That she didn't trust her own mind anymore? That she was afraid to close her eyes?

The silence between them stretched.

Then, in a softer voice, Atlas asked, "Do you want me to stay?"

She hesitated.

Yes. She wanted him to stay.

She didn't want to be alone. Not after this.

But saying that out loud would mean admitting just how terrified she was.

Atlas seemed to understand. "I'll take the couch," he said before she could protest. "You need to rest."

Ama exhaled shakily. "…Okay."

She walked toward the bed in slow, hesitant steps, her body still tense. Atlas settled onto the couch, stretching his legs.

For a while, neither of them spoke.

The house was eerily quiet now. No banging doors. No breaking locks. No whispering shadows.

Ama lay down, staring at the ceiling.

Her body was exhausted, but her mind refused to settle. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw that vision again—her own reflection, chained, drowning in the cold water.

She turned on her side, her gaze drifting toward Atlas.

He had his arms crossed, eyes closed, his breathing even.

Sleeping.

For the first time in days, Ama felt… safe.

And yet, deep down, a small part of her whispered:

What if you're wrong? What if the real danger is right here with you?