"ENOUGH."

  Meilin's lips parted, but no sound came out—just a choked wheeze as terror wrapped around her throat like a noose. The makeup remover bottle slipped from her hand.

  Someone was watching her... watching her undress!

  Her shrieks pierced his mind with a frequency that burrowed deep into his brain, reaching its core and shredding his soul.

  Her lungs fought for air. Her hands scrambled for her tank top, yanked it over her head, and almost strangled herself.

  "Took you long enough," a deep, smooth voice murmured.

  "WHO'S THERE!?" She grabbed the nearest thing—a hairbrush—and wielded it like a dagger. "I-I HAVE A WEAPON!"

  'Dramatic, isn't she?' Ningshun tilted his head with a lazy smirk. 'How cute.'

  As if he were the one at fault. As if he had trespassed into her world, not the other way around. She had no idea. No idea what she was facing. No idea what she had taken was so important to him. And yet, she demanded answers. As if she were not the thief... The audacity.

  'She thinks she holds the power.' He shook his head, half a chuckle, half a sigh.

  He could correct that misunderstanding—easily.

  A brief pause. A moment of consideration.

  Meilin would recognize him. If she realized who he was—her soon-to-be teammate, the professional Mid Laner with a strong reputation, it would complicate matters. Pity. He would have quite enjoyed the idea of watching her stumble and try to piece it all together.

  But who said he could not have a bit of fun toying with her? As long as she did not discern his looks.

  'But first, the portal to the abyss.' Lightning emanated from his palms, creating a hovering disc—a black hole, no larger than his palm. 'Once I take back my power, I'll go to the end of the abyss... and from there—' A slow grin. 'The right portal—to Parishahr.'

  "WHERE ARE YOU?" Wielding her hairbrush, she glanced behind the curtains. "D-Don't tell me it's... a ghost..."

  Ningshun's smirk deepened. 'Not a bad idea.' Snapping his fingers, the lights died.

  It was already night.

  She swallowed as darkness closed in on her. A whimper slipped from her lips. Her breath came faster—shallow, uneven. The silence suffocated her.

  "Boo."

  "Ah!" Meilin screamed—a total, throat-shredding cry—and swung the brush wildly, only to hit nothing. "Wh-Who said that!?" Whatever it was, it stood just inches from her ear!

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  In an instant, he teleported away from her. "If that ridiculous brush is a weapon, then I suggest you learn how to use it."

  From the shadows, a chuckle. Smooth. Amused. Cruel.

  Meilin gasped. "Y-You're..."

  "Not human? A ghost? Or perhaps a figment of your imagination?" Ningshun tsked and let out a low chuckle. "I'd offer you a better view of my good looks, but it seems the lighting's a little... inconvenient for you. Shame, really. But go on, guess—I'm enjoying this."

  She shot him a deadpan look. "Hold up—should I be freaked out right now, or is this just you giving your ego a workout?"

  He teleported again, reappearing near the images of Zayn.

  Oh, no. What if he was telling the truth? What if he was not... human? A ghost! No—impossible. He looked human. Or was she just losing her mind?

  No. There was only one logical explanation. This had to be a dream. Nothing more. And yet, dream or not, he still made her nervous.

  The dim moonlight from outside barely outlined his form—tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely at ease. He observed her like a wolf might watch a cornered deer, though it was too dark to discern specific details. Not even the basic contours of his face!

  She backed away while clenching the brush, but lifted her chin. "S-Stay back! Or else I..."

  "Or what?" he mocked, as if he were indulging a child throwing a tantrum. "You'll brush my hair?"

  "I—I'll hit you!"

  "Feisty." He crossed his arms, intrigued. "Come on, hit me."

  Meilin threw the brush with all her strength—

  Ningshun sidestepped lazily, the brush hitting the image of Zayn on the wall. He let out a slow chuckle. "Impressive aim... although Zayn may not agree."

  She sucked in a sharp breath, pointing shakily at him. "How long have you been standing there!?"

  "Long enough to appreciate your... struggles." He paused and smiled. "Sounds like quite the battle. Suffocating, was it?" He snickered.

  She blinked, immobilized. 'He was there the whole time... the bra... getting naked... he saw. He saw! My God, he saw me...'

  "Tragic, really. I was this close to offering my assistance."

  Meilin's entire soul left her body. "YOU—YOU—" That jerk! That infuriating, egotistical creep! Why could she not respond? Instead, she felt paralyzed.

  He laughed. Actually laughed. Low and rich, and infuriatingly amused.

  "I hope you choke..."

  Ningshun's smirk vanished. Eyebrow arched. "Choke? That's a bit exaggerated, don't you think?"

  "You freak... Stalker. Jerk! You perv!" Her fists clenched.

  Ningshun sighed as if this bored him. "What? Me? Yes, I am a jerk, I'll admit that. A freak? Well... that's a matter of perspective." He crossed his arms. "But a stalker and pervert? Not in a hundred years."

  "You were here the entire time," she mumbled, a bit defeated.

  Ningshun's lips barely turned into a smile. "I saw nothing, and if I were truly a stalker, I'd be much more... subtle." He moved toward her. "And as for why I'm here, well... let's just say I wouldn't waste my time without a good reason."

  "Then, why are you here?" She took a shaky step back. "Are you here to... kill me?"

  "Oh?" He stepped closer, cornering his prey. "If I were, you'd be dead already."

  The disc grew to almost the length of an adult human—electricity around it.

  His tone was... nerve-wracking. This was not happening. This could not be happening. Her chest rose and fell in quick, shallow breaths. Something about the way he moved—graceful, patient, utterly confident—made her insides twist and her vision blur. A predator.

  The walls felt suffocating. Claustrophobic. Praying for this nightmare to end.

  He moved closer, but not enough for her to see his face in the dark. "I'm here to take back what is mine."

  She blinked in confusion. "What is... yours? Did you lose something?"

  He smiled—small, but with meaning. "Oh, yes. Something very precious to me."

  "Uh, how do you know I even have it?"

  His voice dropped lower, slipping through the dark like silk. "I know you do."

  "But how? I—" She hesitated. Why did a guy from a dream even matter? "Whatever, just... tell me where you last saw it!"

  Finally, he stood just close enough for her to make out his sharp jawline, the contours of a man who was all power and grace. He was not joking about his good looks, but it still was not enough to perceive anything more.

  "What I want... is locked inside your heart. A part of me only you can hold," he murmured.

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