Episode 10:"Meet at Funeral"

It had been three days since James left, but Ama remained submerged in darkness. Guilt clung to her like a second skin, seeping into every crevice of her mind. Each breath felt like a weight pressing deeper into her chest. The deaths, the visions—she blamed herself for all of them. Mark's accusation echoed in her head, a relentless chant of condemnation.

"Mark's mother died because of me. Jade died because of me. Kayol too... I am a fucking killer," she whispered, her voice breaking, her nails digging into her palm until pain jolted up her arm.

She had shut herself off from everyone, including Atlas. She convinced herself it was for the best—if she stayed away, they would be safe. She had seen what happened to those who got too close. That hooded figure, that relentless shadow, would not hesitate to take another life. Not again. She wouldn't let it happen.

But something gnawed at her, something strange. In these three days of self-imposed solitude, she had neither seen a vision nor felt the presence of the killer. The absence of horror was unsettling in itself. It was as if the darkness was waiting, watching. The silence wasn't relief—it was a prelude to something worse. And that terrified her more than anything.

Was this what it wanted? For her to be alone? Was that its game all along?

She accepted it. If her loneliness meant others could live, then so be it.

She was lost in these thoughts when she saw Atlas approaching from the other end of the corridor. Instinctively, she turned on her heel, ready to take another route, just as she had done the past few days. But this time, she wasn't fast enough.

A firm grip wrapped around her wrist, yanking her to a halt.

"Ama, enough," Atlas said, frustration lacing his voice. "Three days, Ama. Three fucking days you've been acting like I don't exist. You see me, and you turn away. You change your path like I carry the damn plague. What the hell is wrong with you?"

She yanked her arm free, staring at the floor. "Nothing. I'm just not in the mood to talk."

"Oh? Then tell me when you will be in the mood. Give me a date and time, Ama Watson, because I'm tired of this shit," he snapped, his patience wearing thin.

Her head shot up, eyes blazing. "My mood swings? You think this is just my 'mood swings' that you have to tolerate? Maybe you should stop interfering in my life like some blood-sucking leech. Stop trying to bring happiness where it doesn't belong! My life is not meant for that."

Atlas's jaw clenched. "A leech? That's what I am to you? I was just trying to be a damn friend, but you know what, Ama? Maybe you don't deserve real friends. You push everyone away, and if you keep this up, no one will be there for you. Ever."

He turned on his heel and walked away, leaving her standing there, his words a dagger buried deep into her chest. She knew he was right. And yet, it had to be this way.

Class began, and Ama sat through it in silence, barely registering the words spoken around her. When attendance was taken, she responded mechanically.

"Ama Watson."

"Present, Mrs. Williams."

Names continued, voices blending into the monotonous routine. Some students absentmindedly murmured "Present," not even aware of who they were responding for. But no one questioned Mark's absence.

"Luca Matthew."

"Present."

"Mark Smith."

A brief pause.

"Mark is absent today too?" Mrs. Williams asked, her voice mildly curious but nothing more.

"Yes, ma'am," Lily answered.

Mrs. Williams nodded and continued. It was Kalix who finally spoke up.

"He fractured his left leg playing football."

"Oh dear," Mrs. Williams said. "Send him my regards."

Ama blinked. Three days. He had been absent for three days. The same three days she had been shutting herself off. Something about that unsettled her, but she couldn't place what. Football? She hadn't even seen him on the field that day.

After classes, she made her way home, her mind a fog of exhaustion and unease. But then—

"Ama!"

She halted. Atlas.

He jogged toward her, his face unreadable. "Look, I'm sorry for what I said. I was just angry. But I need to understand, Ama. Why can't you just... stay normal?"

Before she could answer, her phone rang.

Unknown number.

Her breath hitched slightly, but she exhaled sharply and declined the call, irritation flashing in her eyes.

Atlas noticed. "If someone keeps calling, either pick up or tell them to stop. Just declining it every time makes no sense."

Before she could stop him, he snatched the phone and answered it, putting it on speaker.

Ama's heart lurched. "Atlas!"

He only smirked, holding the phone between them as if it were nothing.

"Hello?" Ama's voice wavered.

The reply came, smooth, deliberate, dripping with something dark.

"Hello, Ama Watson. Took you long enough."

Her stomach twisted. The air thickened around them, pressing against her lungs like a vice.

Atlas's amusement vanished as he looked at her. She swallowed hard. "Who are you? And how do you know my name?"

The stranger ignored her question.

"I thought you'd never pick up. I figured the next time you'd hear from me would be at your parents' funeral."

Her breath stopped.

The world tilted.

"H—hello?" Her voice was barely a whisper. "Wh—who are you? P-please, if this is some kind of sick joke—"

"A joke?" The voice on the other end chuckled softly, sending chills racing down her spine. "Oh, Ama... this is just the beginning."

Ama felt everything around her fade. Her vision blurred, her heartbeat roared in her ears.

Atlas took a cautious step closer. "Ama?"

But she couldn't hear him anymore.

Because the next words made her blood run cold.

"Tell me, Ama... do you ever wonder why Mark really isn't at school?"