MY GOLDEN BLOOD (END)

CHAPTER 22: SILHOUETTE

The restless feeling had clung to Tong for days, an unwelcome companion that shadowed his every move. At first, it was just a nagging discomfort, an inexplicable tension in the air that he couldn't quite place. But now, it had escalated-morphing into something heavier, darker, and suffocating.

He felt like he wasn't alone. Especially at night.

It started small-just flashes of movement in his peripheral vision, brief, barely-there shadows that disappeared when he tried to focus on them. The air around him felt thicker, like it was harder to breathe. It wasn't enough to make him panic, but it was enough to keep him on edge.

One evening, Tong stood in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth, trying to shake off the weight pressing down on him. His reflection looked pale, more tired than usual. He leaned forward, splashing cold water on his face, hoping it would clear his mind.

As he straightened up, something caught his eye. In the mirror, behind him, the faintest flicker of a figure. He whipped around-nothing. Just the empty bathroom.

He swallowed hard, his heart thumping loudly in his chest. He hadn't imagined it. He was sure something had been there, just for a split second.

That night, Tong didn't sleep well. He tossed and turned, his mind racing. He felt like he was being watched, even as he lay in bed, his back to the door. The room felt colder than usual, the air heavier with something he couldn't name.

The following day at work, he tried to distract himself, burying his thoughts in his new routine. His colleagues chatted away, oblivious to the storm raging inside him. Tong forced himself to focus, even if his mind kept wandering back to the creeping sense of dread that had taken root in his gut.

What is happening to me? he wondered, drumming his fingers on his desk. Am I just losing it?

But that night, things escalated.

Tong sat on the couch, absentmindedly flipping through the channels on the TV. It was late, but he didn't feel like sleeping. His apartment felt too quiet, too still. He grabbed his phone, checking his messages, hoping to distract himself with mundane updates from friends. Nothing new.

A sudden chill swept through the room, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He looked up, scanning the space around him. The windows were shut, the door locked. There was no reason for the sudden cold.

The sensation of being watched intensified, growing heavier, more tangible. It felt like there was someone-or something-lurking in the shadows just out of sight. Tong's heart raced, his breathing shallow.

It's nothing. I'm just tired, he told himself, trying to reason with his mounting fear. But then, something moved.

It was faint, a shift in the corner of his eye. His head snapped toward the source-a dark corner of the living room where the light didn't quite reach. At first, he saw nothing. Just shadows. But then, the darkness seemed to ripple, like the air itself was moving.

Tong's chest tightened with panic. He stood up, backing away slowly, his eyes locked on the shadowy corner. His mind raced, trying to make sense of what he was seeing-or wasn't seeing.

And then came the whispers.

At first, they were barely audible, just faint murmurs that seemed to come from nowhere. But they grew louder, filling the room with an eerie, disembodied hum. Tong's heart hammered in his chest as he looked around, trying to find the source of the whispers. But there was no one there.

His breath quickened, panic rising in his throat. He stumbled back toward the hallway, wanting to escape, but the cold presence followed him. The shadows seemed to pulse, the air thick with an unseen force pressing down on him.

The next morning, Tong sat on the edge of his bed, exhausted and frazzled. His eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep, and his mind was racing, trying to piece together what had happened. He could still feel the lingering presence, even though the daylight had pushed the shadows away for now.

I'm not imagining this, he thought. There's something here. Something... watching me.

He couldn't shake the feeling that it was more than just paranoia. The whispers, the shadows-they felt too real, too persistent. But what was it? Why was it happening now?

And why, every time the shadows crept closer, did it feel like Mark should be there, like he was the only one who could explain it all?

Meanwhile, Mark watched from afar, his anxiety growing. He knew Kael wasn't the only one interested in Tong now. There were others-other vampires, other threats-and they were closing in.

The haunting that Tong was feeling was more than just paranoia. It was real, and Mark could sense it too. Kael's presence had stirred something dark, something that had set its sights on Tong. And Mark wasn't sure he could keep Tong safe on his own.

Not with everything he had failed to protect before.

As Mark silently kept watch, he felt the same gut-wrenching fear he had known when he lost Aeon. And this time, he wouldn't-couldn't-let history repeat itself.