The air was heavier now.
Not the kind of heavy you feel before a storm—this was personal.Like the walls themselves were waiting. Listening.
Echo didn't speak for a long time. He just sat by the window, eyes scanning the street below, his fingers tracing protective glyphs into the condensation on the glass.
"You cheated the contract," he finally said.
"So now it's sending its garbage man."
"The thing that eats loopholes."
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean there's actually something called—"
"The Eater of Cheats."He didn't flinch.
"Old. Silent. Unwritten."
"It doesn't punish you for what you did. It just erases you so it doesn't happen again."
"People who break the rules of supernatural contracts—especially ones that involve identity or soul anchors—are considered… corrupt data."
"And the Eater deletes corrupt data."
I leaned back in my chair, trying to breathe normally.
"I only took my name back. Isn't that mine to begin with?"
Echo shrugged.
"Sure. But the moment you signed that lease and gave it up, it stopped belonging to you."
"You reclaimed it without permission."
"Which makes you a bug in the system now."
Thunder rolled in the distance, even though the sky outside was clear.
My phone buzzed.
An email.
No sender. No subject. No content.
Just a blinking cursor in the body of the message.
Then it typed:
YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID.
STAY STILL.
I threw the phone across the room.
It hit the wall and shattered.
Echo didn't move.
"It's started watching you," he said.
"Don't open any doors after midnight."
"Don't answer any questions from people who don't blink."
"And whatever you do, don't confess. It thrives on guilt."
We spent the next hour fortifying the apartment.
Salt lines at every threshold.
Obsidian stones in the corners of every room.
A mirror nailed to the ceiling—face down.
My name written in charcoal on every wall.
It felt paranoid.
But paranoia was better than vanishing.
Around 11:54 p.m., the hallway light outside my door began to flicker rhythmically—five blinks, pause, five blinks, pause.
Morse code?
Echo's face went pale.
"That's its heartbeat."
"It's close."
I crept to the peephole and looked out.
Nothing there.
Just an empty corridor, dim and twitching with light.
But as I watched—
The lights blinked again.
And for a single frame, something stood in front of my door.
No face. No eyes.
Just a black silhouette in a loose suit.
And a mouth stitched shut.
I stumbled back.
Echo caught me before I fell.
"Don't run."
"It can't come in unless you violate protocol."
"Stay inside. Stay named. Stay silent."
Midnight hit.
The apartment groaned.
Like the foundation was being bent.
The air grew cold.
Not the usual ghost-cold—but vacuum cold.
Like warmth had been deleted.
Something knocked.
Once.
Then again.
Then five times.
Echo froze.
His eyes widened.
"It's using the same rhythm you used to reclaim your name."
"It's testing for residue."
I whispered, "What if it finds something?"
"Then it resets you. Body and soul."
"You'll be a stranger to yourself."
"You'll wake up one day with a different face, a different voice, no memory of who you used to be."
"You'll never know you were Elias Marr."
I looked toward the mirror on the ceiling.
For a moment, my reflection wasn't there.
Instead, I saw a blank figure—just an outline.
Wearing my clothes.
Smiling.
Then it was gone.
The knocking stopped.
But something slid under the door.
A letter.
On aged parchment. Black ink. Sealed with a wax stamp shaped like a keyhole.
I stared at it.
Echo pulled me back.
"Don't open it."
"It's not for you. It's for the version of you who still belongs to the contract."
"Opening it makes you him again."
I stepped away.
But the letter moved on its own.
Turned upright.
And started to burn.
Blue fire.
No smoke.
No smell.
Just a message left behind in the ash:
THE FILE HAS BEEN FLAGGED.
CORRUPTION NOTED.
EATER EN ROUTE.
The apartment dimmed.
Lights didn't just flicker—they melted into shadow.
My voice caught in my throat.
A pressure pressed on my spine, forcing me to my knees.
Echo screamed something I couldn't hear.
And then—everything stopped.
Silence.
Stillness.
Even the dust in the air hung frozen.
And in the middle of the room—
The Eater appeared.
No footsteps.
No introduction.
It was just there.
Ten feet tall. Skin like black parchment stitched from stolen paper.No face.
No eyes.
But in the center of its chest—a vertical zipper, pulsing.
Like a mouth trying to open.
I tried to speak.
But my throat refused.
The Eater walked toward me.
One step.
Then another.
The zipper unfastened, soundlessly.
Inside, I saw things—
Faces.
Names.
Souls.
Each one screaming silently.
I saw my own face in there.
Blinking.
Waiting.
Then Echo stepped between us.
Held up the obsidian shard.
"You're out of bounds," he shouted.
"This one filed for reclamation."
"He re-signed his identity."
"The system must wait 13 days before deletion."
The Eater paused.
The zipper closed again.
And without a word—without any sound—it turned.
And vanished.
The room breathed again.
Time resumed.
Echo collapsed against the wall, sweat pouring down his face.
"That's the closest I've ever seen one get."
"You're on borrowed time now."
"Thirteen days."
"After that… no more second chances."
I nodded.
I had reclaimed my name.
But now I had 13 days to prove I deserved to keep it.