The room was small but clean. Pale wallpaper peeled slightly at the corners, and the floor creaked with every shift in weight. A wooden-framed bed stood against the far wall, its mattress sunken but warm beneath the thick wool blanket. A small window let in moonlight filtered through pine trees. The air was still, heavy with the smell of dried wood and chimney smoke.

  Natalie lay curled up under the blanket, her head nestled into the pillow, hair still slightly damp. She stared at the ceiling for a while before her eyes drifted to Kazou, who sat slouched in an old armchair in the corner of the room, legs stretched out, coat still on.

  “You’re not gonna sleep like that, are you?” she asked, her voice low.

  Kazou blinked slowly, adjusting the way he rested his head against the back of the chair. “I’ve slept worse.”

  “You’ll wake up stiff as hell.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll live.”

  Natalie frowned. “Why don’t you just share the bed?”

  Kazou looked at her — really looked — for a moment. Not just a glance, but a measure. Her eyes were tired, but alert. Honest. She wasn’t teasing.

  “It’s not about space,” he said finally. “I just think… it wouldn’t be right.”

  Natalie raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m younger?”

  “...” he shook his head. “Because you’ve been through enough already. And because I don’t want to be one more thing that makes you feel watched.”

  She blinked. Something about that made her sit back down slowly. She hugged the blanket to her chest.

  Kazou leaned back into the chair, resting his head against the backrest.

  Natalie laughed softly, muffling it in the blanket. Then she went quiet for a while, tracing invisible shapes on the bedsheet with her finger.

  “Kuroda…” she said finally, her voice thoughtful, “do you think Casimir’s really going to come for us?”

  Kazou’s eyes narrowed, fixed on the ceiling. “I'm not sure.”

  “You sound so sure.”

  He inhaled slowly. “Men like him… They don’t lose interest. They just wait for the right moment.”

  “Can I ask you something?” she said.

  “Sure.”

  “You said you’re a scientist… What kind?”

  Kazou straightened a little, stretching one leg before answering. “Geneticist. Biomedical engineering and a bit of neuroscience.”

  “Wow,” she said, lifting her head. “So like… DNA and stuff?”

  He chuckled. “Essentially.”

  “So should I call you Doctor Kuroda?” she asked, grinning.

  He shook his head with a tired smile. “Not anymore.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t think I have the right to call myself that anymore,” he said softly. "Doctors save lives. As a Scientist, all I did was cause damage."

  Natalie stared at him, watching the way his features were shadowed in the dim light. There was a gravity in him — quiet, restrained, heavy. The kind of weight that comes from guilt long carried.

  “You’re still a doctor,” she said, voice low. “You saved my life.”

  Kazou looked over, startled.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Natalie didn’t say anything more. She just pulled the blanket tighter around herself and turned on her side again, facing away.

  “…Thank you,” he murmured, after a beat.

  Kazou leaned back, closed his eyes.

  Natalie spoke again, just before drifting off.

  “Still think it’d be less weird if you slept on the chair?”

  He smiled to himself.

  “Yes.”

  Then, sleep.

  ***

  Kazou woke with a sharp inhale, the pain in his lower back stabbing from the chair’s rigid frame. His body jolted slightly, disoriented, hands twitching as if trying to grab something from a dream.

  His eyes darted around the room, squinting against the pale morning light that filtered through the lace curtains. The space was quiet—too quiet. The small, warm hum of sleep that had filled the room the night before was gone.

  Kazou slowly sat upright, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

  Something was wrong.

  He turned toward the bed.

  Empty.

  His breath caught.

  The sheets were still faintly warm, slightly rumpled from where she’d been curled up under the blankets, but there was no sign of Natalie. No shoes. No jacket.

  Then he saw it.

  A small folded note, sitting right where her head had rested. It looked delicate, almost out of place. A quiet goodbye.

  Kazou’s fingers trembled as he reached out. His heart was already thudding in his chest, warning him of something—something bad.

  He picked it up.

  Unfolded it.

  And read:

  Dr. Kuroda,

  Thank you. Really.

  Thank you for helping me escape.

  Thank you for not asking too many questions.

  Thank you for believing me, for being kind, for being… human.

  You didn’t have to protect me. You didn’t have to stay. But you did.

  I got up early. I caught a cab from the main road. I’m back home now—my real home. With my parents. They were terrified. My mom cried when she saw me. I told them a version of the truth. Enough to make them stop worrying. Enough to make them hug me again.

  I wish I could’ve brought you with me. Really, I do.

  But…

  They’re looking for you now.

  They say you went on a spree... And now it’s on the news. Everywhere. Across Europe.

  They’re saying you killed someone.

  That you were in Warsaw. That you shot a man and vanished. That you were responsible for a murder over a decade ago.

  They say you’re dangerous.

  But I don’t believe it. I know it isn’t true.

  You’re not dangerous, Dr. Kuroda. You’re just alone. Like me.

  But if you’re reading this… You need to disappear.

  Don’t come find me.

  Please be safe.

  And… thank you, again.

  Maybe we will meet again.

  —Natalie

  Kazou stared at the letter. His hand didn’t move.

  The morning birds outside chirped gently, peacefully, unaware that the entire world beneath their song had just collapsed.

  Kazou read it again, slower, the words slamming harder into his ribs the second time.

  Wanted. Murder. Kidnapping.

  “No…” he whispered. "That night at the lab... Ten did it... Casimir did it..."

  His knees buckled slightly, and he sat down on the bed, the letter crumpling in his fingers.

  They were framing him. No—someone was framing him.

  Casimir...

  Casimir had planned this. He knew.

  Kazou pressed his hand to his forehead. Everything spun. The castle. The disciple. The woods. The boy and his father. Natalie’s small smile beneath the blanket.

  He’d let himself feel hope for a moment. Just one goddamn moment. And now it was gone. Now he was a fugitive. Alone. A sharp breath tore from his chest. Not a sob. Not yet. But the kind of sound someone makes when they’re suddenly aware that the rest of their life will never be the same.

  He stood, clutching the note. And for a long time, he simply stood there. Silent.

  Thinking only of one thing:

  The demon is real. And now the whole world thinks I am him.