The phone buzzed once.
Just once.
But the vibration wasn't mechanical—it was alive, like a shiver crawling up my arm.
The Host: Your first soul awaits. Choose wisely. Your time begins… now.
A timer blinked onto the screen. 4 hours. 00 minutes. 00 seconds.
The red dot pulsed like a heartbeat. My heartbeat.
Then something else shifted.
The air thickened. Like stepping underwater, pressure curling in my ears. I turned toward the window—toward movement. Actual movement.
A man stood outside the café.
Not frozen. Not glitched. Real. Breathing. Smiling.
My throat closed up.
He wasn't there a moment ago. He didn't walk up the road. He was just—there. As if the world had slotted him in like a puzzle piece.
Tall. Late 30s. Black trench coat. Shoes too polished for this sleepy town. His eyes gleamed like oil under moonlight. Unreadable.
A flick of the wrist, and the bell above the café door rang.
Except—I never heard it ring. I saw it vibrate. But the sound… it was wrong. Delayed. Off.
"Hello, Aira."
My blood iced.
"How do you know my name?"
He moved closer, fingers brushing a dusty bookshelf like it amused him. "Names are the least interesting thing I know about you."
His voice—calm, smooth, almost gentle—but coiled. Like a snake that didn't need to hiss to warn you it could bite.
"I'm here to help," he said.
"You're with The Host?"
He smiled. But not a nice smile. A too-wide one. "I am The Host. At least… the part you can see."
I backed toward the counter, heart thudding. "You froze everyone. You're doing this."
"No," he said, circling me like a shadow. "You did. When you agreed to play."
"I never said yes."
He stopped. Just for a second. Then leaned in close—too close.
"You didn't have to."
My breath hitched.
"Choice is a lovely illusion," he whispered. "You hovered. You considered. You read every line. That's consent enough in our language."
He stepped back, hands folded neatly like a priest at a funeral. "There is a soul in Shimla. A ticking one. Find it. Or don't. But time won't stop just because you're scared."
The clock on my phone ticked down: 3:51:23.
I swallowed. "What happens if I fail?"
He looked up at the ceiling as if it bored him. "Oh, nothing dramatic. Just... the soul you don't save will fracture. Stay frozen. Lost to the game. That's all."
"And if I save them?"
"Then you get to keep playing."
His eyes met mine again. Too calm. Too knowing.
"But they come back... different, don't they?"
Something flickered in his expression. "Of course they do. No one really survives being paused. Not whole."
I stared at the device in my hand. Then at the man who wasn't a man.
"Who are you really?" I asked, softly.
His grin returned. Razor-edged.
"I'm the part of you that wants to play."
Then—he vanished. Not with a poof. Not a fade. Just… gone.
Like a tab closed without warning.
The bell above the café door tinkled again—this time with sound.
I turned.
A small girl stood there. Frozen. Eyes wide, hands outstretched, like she was trying to scream.
Target acquired.
3:44:11
My first soul.
And the game had begun.
[To be continued in Chapter Three: "The Girl in Red"]