A countless sea of lantern light flickered before me.
The tavern sat inside a wide wooden compartment deck—its beams crooked, its construction unorthodox, as if it had been rebuilt too many times by too many hands. People filled the place shoulder to shoulder. Eating. Drinking. Living.
Including me.
Platters of shimmering food passed from table to table, steam rising in lazy spirals. Drinks of all colors caught the lantern light, glowing faintly as they were lifted, spilled, refilled. Everything felt alive.
Too alive.
It was noisy. Too noisy.
Wooden mugs clashed against tables, laughter overlapped itself, and somewhere in the corner a man was singing a song no one remembered the beginning of. The smell of cooked meat and cheap alcohol hung thick in the air—warm enough to make the walls sweat.
And I sat still.
My hands rested in my lap, fingers loosely curled, unmoving. In front of me sat a mug I hadn't touched. The foam had already thinned, leaving a pale ring around the rim.
I never really liked the taste anyway.
Across the table, Juna laughed—really laughed. Her cheeks were flushed, her voice cutting clean through the noise like it belonged there. The Director was already on his second drink, talking animatedly, hands moving so wildly I half-expected him to knock something over. Someone nearby cheered. Someone else groaned.
And then there was Albus.
He wasn't drinking either.
He just sat there, shoulders relaxed, eyes wandering as if part of him still wasn't fully here. When someone said something funny, he smiled—not wide, not loud—
Just… soft.
The kind of smile that lingered a second longer than it should.
Something in my chest tightened.
Why are you here?
The thought came sharp and uninvited.
Albus didn't belong in places like this. Didn't belong getting involved. Didn't belong standing between things that would eventually break him.
I looked down at my hands.
Earlier today, those same hands had been shaking as I carried stacks of paper through endless hallways. Earlier today, I would've been alone.
Invisible.Replaceable.
And then Albus had knelt beside me on the floor, helping without being asked.
No questions.No pity.
"…Damn it," I muttered under my breath, clenching my jaw.
Idiot.
I wasn't sure if the word was meant for him—or for me.
The noise around me blurred into something distant, almost white. And then I felt it.
Something unfamiliar.
Not relief. Not happiness.
Comfort.
I let out a slow breath. "Tch…"
That was the problem.
It made me angry.
And it made me worried.
Hours passed without anyone noticing the time.
Eventually, the night thinned out. Chairs scraped against the floor. Empty mugs were left behind. Laughter softened into tired sighs. Outside, the abyss-dark streets waited, lanterns flickering like they might give up at any second.
We stepped out together.
The Director waved us off, heading another way, already humming to himself. Juna stretched her arms over her head, swaying slightly—too many drinks, not enough care.
"Since you're the youngest," she said, glancing at me, "we'll walk you home."
I blinked. "…You don't have to."
"We're already here," Albus replied easily.
So we walked.
Our footsteps echoed softly against stone. The tavern's warmth faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hum of the city at rest. Lantern light washed over the road in uneven pools.
For a while, no one spoke.
Then I stopped walking.
"…Hey."
They both turned.
"…Thank you," I said. The words came out smaller than I wanted. Late. "For earlier. I didn't… say it."
Albus scratched the back of his head. "It wasn't a big deal."
I looked away.
It was.
We talked a little more after that—about work, about routes, about nothing important. Somehow, it mattered anyway.
When we reached my home, I stood at the door longer than necessary.
It wasn't much.
But it felt warmer than it had this morning.
I watched them leave.
Only when the street was empty again did the quiet return.
And for the first time that day, the silence didn't feel so heavy.
Inside the fragile wooden house, the door creaked shut behind me.
The place barely held together. Thin planks for walls, gaps where cold slipped in without asking. A single lantern burned quietly near the center of the room, its light weak but stubborn—like it refused to go out completely.
Against the far wall sat a small shrine.
A photograph rested there. Faded at the edges. My family.
I stopped in front of it without realizing I had. My chest felt tight, like it always did when I stood here. I didn't kneel. I didn't pray. I just stood.
To my left was the bed—if it could still be called that. The frame was warped, one leg barely stable, the mattress sunken in the middle from nights spent without rest. To my right, a mirror leaned against the wall, cracked straight through the glass. My reflection split into uneven pieces. I avoided looking too long.
Near the corner sat a wooden box, filled to the brim with papers.
Unfinished deliveries. Unfulfilled promises.
Work that never seemed to end.
I looked back at the shrine.
I remembered the way the house used to sound when it was full. Soft voices. Footsteps. Laughter drifting in the air without effort. Warm days that didn't feel borrowed. Nights where sleep came easily.
All those moments.
All of them.
"…I wonder," I whispered, my voice barely there.
If they'd be angry with me for feeling this again.
This warmth. This comfort.
After everything.
I lowered my head.
And for tonight… that was enough.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Juna walked a little ahead of me, her steps uneven but confident in that careless way only someone half-drunk could manage. Lanterns lined the road, their light stretching thin across stone and metal alike.
As we walked toward the path leading to her home, structures came and went around us—contraptions stacked onto old buildings, gears biting into wood where they shouldn't have worked.
Obscene.
And yet… working.
Chains turned. Rails hummed softly. An elevator platform creaked somewhere above us, moving without complaint. None of it made sense, and no one questioned it anymore.
Juna laughed at something I didn't catch, swaying slightly before steadying herself against a railing.
"This place never sleeps, hic" she said, squinting at the machinery. "Even when it probably should hic."
I nodded, eyes tracing the strange silhouettes as they passed by us. Every structure felt borrowed. Forced into place. Like the town was constantly repairing itself just to keep from collapsing.
The further we walked, the quieter it got.
The noise of the tavern faded into memory, replaced by the low hum of mechanisms and the soft echo of our footsteps.
"Still hic hate those," she muttered. "Every time I look at them, I feel like they're gonna… snap."
She made a sharp motion with her hands, then laughed at herself, nearly losing her balance before grabbing the railing.
I caught her arm without thinking. She blinked at me, then smiled—soft, unfocused.
"See?" she said. "Already acting like you belong. hic."
I let go, heat creeping up my neck. "You're drunk."
"Only a little," she protested, then leaned closer. "Okay. Maybe not. hic"
That was. Something. Why is my hearting beating so loudly?
We kept walking.
The town felt different at night. Less noise. Less pretending. The hum of machinery filled the spaces where voices used to be, steady and patient, like it didn't care whether anyone was listening.
Juna sighed, long and heavy.
"You scared me back there," she said suddenly.
I looked at her. "Back where?"
"At the market." Her tone was lighter than her words. "You didn't hesitate. Not even for a second."
I didn't answer right away.
She laughed quietly. "You know, most people here learn real fast when to look away."
"I just didn't want him to get hurt," I said.
Juna stopped walking.
She turned to face me, her expression unreadable in the lantern light. The red of her hair looked darker at night, almost like embers burned low.
"That's the problem," she said gently. "You say it like it's simple."
For a moment, neither of us spoke. Somewhere nearby, a machine clicked and reset itself. The sound echoed down the street.
Juna looked away first.
"…You're going to get yourself into trouble," she added, quieter now. Not teasing. Not drunk. Just honest.
I watched the shadows stretch and shrink along the walls as the lanterns flickered.
"Maybe," I said.
She snorted. "Definitely. hic"
We started walking again.
The path narrowed as we moved deeper into the residential stretch. The contraptions thinned out here—fewer rails, fewer chains—but the buildings leaned closer together, stitched with cables and patched wood.
The town felt tired.
Juna yawned, rubbing her eyes. "Tomorrow's gonna be hell," she muttered. "Mio doesn't go easy on new blood."
I nodded as a unknowingly instinct.
Before it catches me off guard.
"Oh yeah," Juna said suddenly, casual. "Where will you be staying?"
"…Huh?"
She stopped.
"Huh?" she repeated.
We stood there.
"…Right," Juna muttered.
Before I could ask anything else, we were already at her door.
"…Well," she said after a moment, rubbing the back of her neck, "we're already here. I'll let you stay for a while."
Relief washed over me—quiet, heavy. Gratitude followed right after it. And then something else.
Why was she always like this?
We barely knew each other.
"Juna," I asked, before I could stop myself, "why are you doing all this for me?"
She paused.
I didn't see it—the brief tightening of her shoulders, the worry that crossed her face and vanished just as fast.
She kept her voice light. "Same reason you helped An."
She pushed the door open, warm light spilling out.
Then she turned back to face me and smiled, gentle and unguarded.
"I never really needed a reason."
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Darkness surrounds me. Not just around—inside.
It engulfs me.
It presses against my skin, seeps into my chest, fills the spaces where thoughts should be. I can't feel the ground beneath my feet. I can't even tell if I'm standing or falling.
I wonder if this is what nothing feels like.
I wonder…how long I've been here.
Then—
Warmth.
It cuts through the dark like a fracture. Not bright at first—soft. Flickering. Uncertain. A light, floating just ahead of me, pulsing like it's breathing.
My chest tightens.
There you are.
The light begins to drift away.
"Wait," I try to say.
"Don't leave me again!"
I try to shout, with a voice I've never had.
I start running. Running and running and running.
I don't know how my legs move, but they do. I run. Each step feels delayed, like the darkness is resisting me, pulling me back, trying to keep me where I belong.
It's close—Too close to give up. Too far to touch.
Please let me make it.
I leap forward and grab it.
I hold the light against my chest. It's warm—no, more than warm. It's gentle. Familiar. Like something I lost before I even knew what it was.
My hands tremble as I cradle it, careful, reverent. As if it might shatter if I'm careless.
I'm—
The light flickers.
Cracks form along its edges, thin and quiet, like glass under pressure.
Wait. Wait wait wait wait wait—
It's disappearing.
You know you can't keep it.
The light slips through my fingers.
I grab at it, frantic now, but my hands pass through empty air.
No. No no no no no—I can do something. Please—wait—
Too late.
It's already gone from my arms.
It fades completely.
The warmth drains from my body all at once, leaving behind a hollow cold that hurts worse than before.
I fall to my knees.
I cry. I scream. I claw at the darkness like it might give the light back if I beg hard enough.
But there's no voice. No echo. No answer.
The darkness closes in again.
"GAH!"
I jolt upright, gasping.
My chest heaves as if I've been drowning. My hands shake as I bring them to my face—wet. Tears stream down without permission.
"It was a dream," I whisper, though it doesn't convince me.
I run my hands over my arms, my shoulders, my chest—solid. Still here.
That dream…
"…damn it," I choke out, my throat tight.
The air feels wrong. Too thin. Too cold.
"Albus."
A voice towards my left.
I turn my head.
Juna is sitting up beside me, her hair a mess, eyes heavy with sleep—and worry.
"Are you alright?" she asks softly.
I look at her. Really look.
Right. I'm not.
But I smile anyway.
"Yeah," I say. "Just a bad dream."
She studies me for a second longer than necessary.
"I see," she says at last. She stands, stretching slightly. "There's breakfast in the kitchen. Come on. Let's eat."
Her voice is light. Too light.
She turns away before I can say anything else.
I sit there, staring at the space where the darkness had been.
Why are my dreams always like this?
Why does the warmth never stay?
Damn it.... What am I.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Juna and I had breakfast together, simple and quiet. Nothing special—warm food, clinking utensils, the kind of silence that doesn't feel awkward yet still says more than words. After that, we headed straight for the messenger headquarters.
We talked as we walked. About nothing important. About the weather inside the sectors, about routes, about how early the city felt despite already being awake. The path stretched ahead of us, lanterns dimming as daylight crept in.
Then a familiar figure came into view.
"Hey, An!"
I raised my arm and waved.
It took him a moment to notice. He was staring off somewhere else, eyes unfocused, walking on habit alone. When he finally saw us, he flinched slightly—then waved back, shy and a little stiff. It was kind of funny.
We caught up to him.
"Heading to the headquarters?" Juna asked.
"Yeah," An replied. "A lot of mail today. I'm already behind."
"Same," Juna said with a grin. "Yesterday I couldn't even finish my deliveries because a certain someone bumped into me naked."
An blinked—then laughed softly.
Juna laughed too.
…Wait.
That's me.
I let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of my neck, but I couldn't help smiling. Moments like this—walking together, Makes me wonder how I missed it so much.
What.
That wasn't a thought.
I stopped.
A voice brushed past my ear, faint but close enough to make my skin prickle. I turned around.
There was no one there.
The path behind us was empty. Just stone, lantern posts, and the slow hum of the city moving on without me.
But I know I heard something.
"Albus?"
I turned back. An was looking at me now, head tilted slightly, concern slipping into his expression.
"Is there something back there?" he asked.
For a second, I almost told him.
Almost.
"…Nah," I said, forcing a shrug. "Probably just my imagination."
They didn't look convinced—but they didn't press either.
We kept walking.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As the doors to the headquarters swung open, we were greeted by Director Ochid—arms crossed, smile wide, posture relaxed as ever. Beside him stood a woman almost his height, wearing a fitted uniform polo tucked into a black waistcoat, a long coat resting neatly over her shoulders like it was waiting to be worn at any moment.
She didn't smile.
The air around her felt… tight. Like standing too close to a drawn blade.
"Oh crap, that's—" Juna muttered under her breath.
I didn't need to ask who that was. An stiffened beside me too.
"You're finally here, Albus!" the director said cheerfully. "What a great meeting we have today."
The woman stepped forward before anyone else could speak.
"So this is the kid you were talking about, Director," she said, her tone flat as she approached me. Her eyes dragged over me slowly, deliberately—head to toe—like she was measuring something that didn't quite meet expectation.
It felt like being dissected.
"Hey, wai—" the director started, but she ignored him.
She crouched slightly, lowering herself just enough to meet my eyes.
Her gaze sharpened.
Calculating. Weighing. Judging.
After a moment, she straightened.
"I don't really see how this kid is all that special," she said plainly.
…What the hell was that about?
"And Juna," she continued, her voice shifting—harder, colder.
Juna froze.
Color drained from her face.
"That quota I was expecting," the woman said.
"I—I uh—" Juna tried to speak, but the words collapsed on themselves before they could form an excuse.
Silence.
"For now," the woman continued, "this will be a warning. As the director already told you—there will be consequences the next time you miss it."
Juna's knees almost buckled.
"Yes—! Thank you so much, Miss Mio!" she said quickly, bowing deeply, relief pouring out of her in one long breath.
So her name was Mio.
"And An."
An flinched.
"About those delinquents disrupting our policies," Mio said calmly, "they've been taken care of."
For just a second, An's eyes lit up.
Then—
"And the mail you were assigned," she added, "was delivered to the wrong office."
The light vanished instantly.
"I—I'm sorry, Miss Mio!" An bowed just as deep as Juna, his voice trembling.
Director Ochid watched the whole thing unfold, scratching the back of his head awkwardly before stepping in.
"Jeez, Mio," he said lightly, "you're way too menacing sometimes, you know? You've gotta loosen up a little."
"Director," she replied without missing a beat, "this was a simple calculation for the betterment of the messengers."
Calculation.
Right… that fit.
"Anyway," the director said, clapping his hands together, "Albus—meet Mio. She's an Overseer of the Messengers. Your new boss."
"Overseer?" I echoed.
"She oversees how you do your job, what you deliver, how much you're paid, and when your quota's due," he explained. "She's one rank below me in the structure."
"I see…"
I turned back to Mio and bowed.
"Please take care of me from now on."
"For now," she said, already turning away, "get your uniform. Second floor. East wing. Equipment Office."
"Yes, ma'am," I replied immediately.
Not just because she told me to—
—but because something deep in my chest told me not to hesitate.
As I walked off, one thought lingered:
Yeah… menacing was definitely the right word.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"The equipment office, huh… this must be the place."
I pushed the door open.
Inside were two people who almost looked the same—too similar to be a coincidence. Same face shape, same sharp eyes, same height. The only difference was contrast.
One wore black, the other white.
Their hair mirrored it too—one jet black, the other pale white—split down the middle like the world itself couldn't decide. Their outfits were structured, similar to Mio's uniform, but more unified. Not separated into coats and layers—more like an all-in design.
The boy wore sleek black pants and a fitted top. The girl wore a white polo and skirt, crisp and clean.
They were arguing.
"So another one of those scoundrels wandered into our humble abode, huh, Eli?" the girl said, arms crossed, smirk sharp enough to cut.
"Don't say such mean things, Elia," the boy replied calmly.
"…Is this where I get my uniform?" I asked, cutting straight through them.
Both of them turned to look at me.
The girl's smirk widened. "It isn't. Get lost."
"Elia!" the boy snapped.
They immediately went back to arguing.
I sighed, then raised my voice. "I'm a new recruit. The name's Albus."
That stopped them.
The girl froze. The boy blinked—then his eyes lit up.
"So you're the one the Director was talking about!" he said, shoving the girl aside.
"Gah! Eli, you little—!"
He stepped forward and grabbed my hand, shaking it enthusiastically."My name's Eli! And that bundle of hostility over there is my twin sister, Elia. We're the sub-structure equipment managers!"
Sub-structure? Equipment managers?
"You probably have a lot of questions," Eli continued cheerfully. "Let's talk while we pick out your uniform."
"…Right."
They measured me—arms, shoulders, waist—moving fast, like they'd done this a thousand times.
"Sub-structures?" I asked while they worked.
Elia snorted. "See, you little dummy, sub-structures are part of an organization, but we specialize in specific functions."
"She means," Eli added, "we handle things others don't."
Elia puffed her chest proudly. "Miss Mio herself picked us up from the underlayer."
That caught my attention.
"We were poor. Begging," Eli said quietly. "She gave us work. Gave us a place."
…I see. So Mio had a soft spot after all.
They pulled out several uniforms—different cuts, different markings.
"Do the designs mean something?" I asked.
"Yeah," Eli nodded. "Each design shows your role and position."
"Like Miss Mio's uniform," Elia added, "and the Director's coat."
"The Overseer's insignia," Eli explained, "is a mail symbol with eyes surrounding it. The Director's is a quill writing on parchment—you've probably seen it on the back of his coat."
…I hadn't noticed before.
"And this," Elia said, shoving something into my hands, "is yours, dummy."
I looked down.
A fitted off-white, ash-gray long-sleeved shirt.A dark slate sleeveless coat split at the sides, light and practical.Charcoal pants reinforced at the knees.Scuffed mid-calf boots built for distance.
On the shoulder—a small metal badge. A mail with wings.
I put it on.
It fit perfectly.
"Yup," Elia said smugly. "Nothing beats us."
"You can say that again," Eli agreed.
They really did have good chemistry.
"…Where do I stand in the structure?" I asked.
"You better listen, because I won't repeat it," Elia snapped.
"Right now," Eli said, "you're a Messenger. You deliver mail across grades and sectors."
"You can move freely," Elia added, "but you can't enter restricted areas unless an Overseer approves it."
"The Overseer," Eli continued, "has higher clearance. The Director has all of it. He can even go beyond the grades."
Interesting.
"And then there's us," Eli said.
"The sub-structures," Elia grinned. "Reception, equipment, audits, probationary officers—specialists."
"…That's a lot."
"What? Your puny brain can't handle it?" Elia teased.
"Elia!"
I sighed.
What energetic twins.
I stepped back into the main hub.
The moment they saw me, the noise around us dipped—just a little.
Juna was the first to react.
"…Oh." Her eyes traveled up and down, slow, deliberate. Then she grinned."Wow. That actually suits you."
An blinked. Once. Twice. "…It looks… cool," he said quietly, then looked away like he hadn't meant to say it out loud.
Director Ochid let out a low whistle. "Well I'll be damned. They really didn't hold back."
I glanced down at myself again. It still felt strange—like I'd stepped into a role before fully understanding what it meant.
"Try not to trip over yourself now," Juna added, smirking. "Wouldn't want to ruin the image."
I was about to reply when I felt it.
That pressure.
Standing a few steps behind them was Mio, arms crossed, eyes sharp, already bored of waiting. She tapped her foot once against the stone floor.
"That's enough," she said flatly. "All of you."
The room straightened immediately.
"Today will be a trial run," Mio continued. "No special treatment. No shortcuts."
She looked directly at me.
"Albus. You will be accompanying Juna and An. Observe. Deliver. Do not improvise."
I nodded. "Yes, ma'am."
"Juna," Mio turned, "you're leading the route. Stay on schedule."
"Yes!" Juna replied instantly.
"And An." Her gaze softened—but only barely. "Double-check your destinations this time."
An stiffened. "Y-Yes, Miss Mio."
The day blurred into motion.
Hallways stacked on hallways. Lantern-lit corridors stretching longer than they should. Paper exchanged hands. Seals checked. Names read aloud, crossed out, confirmed.
Juna moved fast—confident, practiced. An followed carefully, clutching stacks close to his chest. I kept pace, learning the rhythm, the weight of distance.
Up stairs. Down ramps. Through sectors where the air felt heavier, darker.
At some point, I realized something.
This job is really tiring
By the time break rolled around, my legs ached—and somehow, I didn't mind.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Around break, the three of us met up near the market.
The path opened into a small plaza—wide enough to breathe, high enough that you could look down at the flow of people below. Stalls crowded the edges, voices calling out prices, lanterns swaying gently overhead. It felt almost… normal.
Juna pulled out a small bundle. "Sandwiches!" she said proudly.
An had already wandered off and returned with a drink from a nearby vendor, clutching it like it might spill if he wasn't careful.
We sat at the edge of the plaza, on the same raised park where we'd treated An before—where bruises and torn papers had been quietly stitched back into place. The city stretched beneath us, alive and uncaring.
We talked. About routes. About stupid deliveries. About nothing that mattered.
For a moment, it was easy.
Then An stood up.
"Sorry, I'll just—"
Thud.
"—Ow—!"
He'd bumped into someone.
"I-I'm sorry about that," An said quickly, bowing his head.
"An?" Juna was already on her feet, moving toward him.
The man An had collided with turned slowly.
"Why you little—"
I stepped forward before he could finish.
Juna helped An back up while I placed myself between them, close enough to block, far enough not to provoke.
"Tsk," the man clicked his tongue. "Puny messengers."
His eyes flicked to my shoulder.
The insignia.
His mouth curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"You'll regret it later."
Then he walked off, vanishing into the crowd like he'd never been there at all.
"…What an asshole," I muttered.
I turned back.
"An, are you alright?"
"Y-Yeah," he said quickly. "I just… fell."
Juna let out a breath she'd been holding. "What was that guy's problem?"
An shook his head. "Don't mind him. Some people just look for trouble. Especially when they think someone's weaker."
Before any of us could say more, the bells rang.
"Ah" all three of us at the same time said so.
Break was over.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Work swallowed the rest of the day.
Deliveries stacked one after another. Routes split, rejoined, split again. Footsteps echoed. Doors opened. Doors closed.
None of us noticed when An's shadow stopped lining up quite right.
None of us noticed when one set of footsteps faded out of rhythm.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After long hours passed—
"Finally, it's finished!" Juna hurrahed, stretching both arms high above her head.
"Yeah… that was really tiring," I replied, catching my breath.
"First time, huh?" she chuckled.
I smiled weakly. Damn. She really had a lot of stamina.
…Someone's missing.
"Where's An?" I asked.
Juna blinked. "Dunno. Haven't seen him since break. Maybe he already went ahead to the headquarters."
Something didn't sit right.
The thought lingered, heavy, refusing to settle.
We walked back toward the headquarters. The noise of the city thinned the closer we got—less chatter, more echo.
Then I saw him.
The Director was pacing near the entrance, one hand pressed against his mouth, the other clenched tight. He wasn't just waiting.
He was worried.
When he noticed us, he rushed over.
"You guys are already here…"
"Hm?" Juna tilted her head.
"…Have you seen An?"
Silence.
Juna and I looked at each other.
In that single moment, whatever was on our faces was enough.
The Director's expression drained.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Somewhere dimly lit, a boy with green hair lay on the cold floor.
His body was tied.
Rope biting into his wrists. His legs bound tight. His mouth—covered. He couldn't speak. Couldn't scream.
CHAPTER 4 ENDS....