The Thing's We Say Before We Disappear

The plaza did not return to normal after the wraiths vanished. That was the first thing Kazu noticed as they walked away from it. Cities were supposed to heal themselves through noise — traffic, voices, footsteps, the unconscious agreement that life continued whether you were ready for it or not. This place had none of that. The 25th Hour did not rush to fill silence. It let it stretch. Let it rot.

Lanterns hovered above them as they moved through the broken street, dimmer now, their glow uneven, as if exhausted by what they had been forced to illuminate. Each step Kazu took sent pain lancing up his side. He adjusted his grip on the sword, leaning on it more than he wanted to admit. Reina walked ahead of him by three steps. Not close enough to be mistaken for companionship. Not far enough to imply distrust.

Her posture was rigid, blade still out, shoulders set like she expected something to come apart at the seams if she relaxed for even a second.

Blood marked their path.

Some of it evaporated where it fell. Some of it didn’t. Kazu tried not to think about why. They passed a bus frozen mid-turn, headlights illuminating nothing. A street vendor’s cart stood abandoned, steam curling lazily from food that should have been cold by now. The smell made his stomach twist — hunger and nausea tangled together in a way that felt deeply wrong.

Neither of them spoke.

Kazu wasn’t sure what he would say if he tried. Thanks felt obscene. Are you okay felt pointless. Everything important sat heavy and wordless between them, too dense to push through language without it collapsing. Reina slowed suddenly. Kazu nearly ran into her. She lifted a hand, not turning around. Just a sharp, economical gesture. Stop. Ahead of them, light spilled onto the street.

Warm. Yellow. Artificial.

A convenience store. Its sign flickered overhead, letters half-burned out, the word OPEN glowing insistently like a lie it had told too many times to take back. The glass doors were intact. Inside, shelves stood neatly stocked. A fridge hummed softly. Normal. The word made Kazu uneasy.

“This is wrong,” Reina said quietly.

Her voice sounded raw now. Not weak — stripped. “Yeah,” Kazu agreed, though he wasn’t sure why. “It is.” They approached slowly. The lanterns hesitated at the threshold, hovering just outside the glass as if bound by rules neither of them understood. When Reina pushed the door open, a bell chimed overhead.

The sound was unbearably loud.

Inside, the air was warmer. Too warm. It smelled like detergent, sugar, and something coppery beneath it all. Kazu’s vision swam briefly as his body reacted — adrenaline bleeding off, pain rushing in to claim its due. He staggered. Reina caught his arm without looking. Her grip was firm. Professional. She let go immediately once he steadied.

“Sit,” she said, nodding toward a chair near the counter.

He obeyed. Only after he lowered himself did he realize how badly he was shaking. His hands trembled violently now, muscles fluttering beneath skin slick with blood and sweat. He pressed his forearm against his side, hissing quietly through clenched teeth. Reina moved with purpose, sweeping the store with her eyes. No wraiths. No lanterns inside. No obvious traps. She grabbed a bottle of water, twisted the cap off, and handed it to him.

“Slow,” she said. “You throw up, you choke.”

“Wasn’t planning on multitasking,” Kazu muttered, then immediately regretted speaking. His voice sounded too thin. She snorted once. Not a laugh. Something closer to muscle memory. As she turned away, Kazu noticed the blood soaking through her jacket, dark and glossy. It had pooled at her side, dripped onto the floor in slow, steady intervals. 

“You’re bleeding,” he said. “So are you.” Reina. “That’s not—” Kazu. She cut him off with a look sharp enough to hurt. “Sit,” she repeated. “You drop, and i have to drag you. I don’t feel like doing that.”

He didn’t argue. His body folded into the chair with a stiffness that made his teeth click together. The moment his weight settled, pain surged— delayed, vicious, claiming territory now that the danger had stepped back. He sucked in a breath through his teeth and pressed his palm hard against his side.

Blood seeped through his fingers.

“Shit,” he muttered, quieter than before.

Reina had already moved. She yanked a small medical kit from beneath the counter—outdated, half-empty, but real. Her hands were steady as she knelt, tearing open gauze with her teeth. Only when she leaned closer did he notice the tremor in her shoulders, not fear, not weakness, but exhaustion finally slipping past discipline.

“Lift your arm,” she said. He did. The movement sent stars across his vision. She didn’t apologize. She cleaned the wound quickly, efficiently, jaw set as blood smeared across her gloves. When he hissed, her grip tightened just slightly— grounding, not cruel. “Pressure,” she said, pressing gauze into his side. “Hold.”

He obeyed. Only then did she turn her attention to herself. Reina shrugged out of her jacket with a sharp inhale, fabric peeling away from skin where it had dried to blood. The wound along her ribs was ugly claw marks torn deep enough to make Kazu’s stomach twist. She wrapped it herself, movements precise despite the way her fingers shook when she thought he wasn’t looking.

They worked in silence. Plastic wrappers crinkled. Tape peeled. Blood dripped onto tile in slow, rhythmic taps that filled the gaps where words might have gone. That was when the sound reached them. Not loud. Human.

A voice —hoarse, breaking — followed by another, higher, edged with panic. Kazu froze, gauze still pressed to his side. Reina’s head snapped up instantly. They listened.

“—please, stay awake—” “I can’t— I can’t—” “Stop crying— stop—”

A sharp whisper cut through the rest.

“Do you want the wraiths back?! Shut up!”

Silence followed. Thick. Tense. Reina rose slowly, blade already in her hand. “Stay,” she told Kazu. He shook his head and stood anyway. They moved together toward the back of the store. That’s when they saw them. 4 people, clustered in a rough circle near the refrigerators. Not soldiers. Not fighters. Just… survivors. A girl crouched on the floor, knees pulled to her chest, face buried in her hands as her shoulders shook.

A man stood rigid nearby, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white, jaw trembling like he was holding something back by force. Another knelt beside a body.

The dying man.

Blood pooled beneath him, spreading slowly, dark and sticky against the tile. Someone had tried to press fabric against the wound — a scarf, maybe — but it was soaked through. His breathing rattled now, shallow and uneven, each inhale sounding like it might be his last. No one noticed Reina and Kazu at first.

Everyone’s attention was trapped in that center space — that awful gravity well where hope went to die.

“She’s right,” the standing man whispered harshly. “Crying’s going to draw them back.”

The girl looked up, eyes wild.

“So what?!” she snapped. “We just— we just let him die quietly?!” Her voice cracked on the last word. Fear changed shape. “He’s dying,” the kneeling man said hoarsely, not accusing — just stating fact. “Can you…?”

Middle-aged. Office clothes. One shoe missing. His chest was soaked in blood, the fabric torn open where something had struck deep and then… stopped. His eyes were open, glassy, unfocused, staring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him. He was still alive. Barely.

“Oh no,” Kazu breathed. The man’s gaze shifted. It took effort. You could see it in the way his pupils dragged across the room, in the tiny tremor that passed through his face as his brain fought to keep functioning. When his eyes landed on them, something like relief flickered — and then immediately curdled into panic.

“No,” the man rasped. “No, no, no—”

Reina knelt instantly, assessing the wound. One glance was enough. There was nothing she could do. She knew it. Kazu knew it. The man probably knew it too. Her jaw tightened, but her hands were gentle as she adjusted the cloth, easing the man’s breathing as much as possible. Kazu stood back, feeling like an intruder in something sacred and unbearable.

The dying man’s eyes fluttered open.

“Hey,” someone whispered urgently. “Hey— you’re not alone—”

The man laughed. It came out as a wet cough, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t,” he said. “Don’t lie. I hate that.”

Kazu swallowed. “I— We can—”

“There’s no hospital,” the man said sharply. “Is there.” the man. It wasn’t a question. Reina said nothing. The girl started crying again, silent this time. “We can’t save him,” the kneeling man said, voice breaking. “We tried. We really tried.” “I know,” Reina said quietly. The man’s breathing hitched. His fingers clawed weakly at the tile, leaving smeared red trails that seemed to resist drying.

“Where is this?” he whispered. “This isn’t— this isn’t—”

“The 25th Hour,” Reina said quietly. The man went very still. Then he started to cry. Not loudly. Not dramatically. Just silent tears sliding down into his ears as his face crumpled inward, as if some internal support had given out. “I knew it,” he whispered. “I knew it wasn’t a dream.” Kazu felt cold settle in his stomach. “You’ve… heard of it?” he asked.

The man nodded faintly. “Online,” he said. “Forums. Videos. People saying it’s a hoax. Or a metaphor. Or mental illness.” His eyes flicked up to the lanterns hovering just beyond the glass doors. “They never show that part,” he said. Reina shifted, bracing him as another spasm wracked his body. Blood seeped through her gloves.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

The man laughed again. It turned into coughing. He gasped, struggled, then forced the words out like he was afraid they’d die with him.

“Regret,” he said. “That’s what they say, right?”

Kazu stiffened. No one answered.

“They say people come here because of regret,” the dying man continued. “Big regrets. Things that rot inside you until you can’t sleep.” He stared at Kazu now. “You want to know the worst part?” he asked. Kazu didn’t. He nodded anyway.

“I don’t regret what I did,” the man said. The words landed wrong. Not shocking— off. Like a note played half a step out of tune. 

“I regret that it didn’t matter.”

Reina’s jaw tightened. Another voice spoke up, shaking, angry. “Is it?” a young man demanded. “Because I don’t even know what mine is.” The words hung in the air.

“What do you mean?” the woman asked.

“I mean I woke up here,” he said, breath quickening, “and I know I don’t belong. I know I shouldn’t be here. But I can’t remember what I did. Or what I didn’t do.” His eyes darted to Kazu and Reina. “What if you don’t remember your regret?” he asked. “Does that mean you’re stuck?” Kazu felt something cold slide down his spine. Reina didn’t answer immediately.

The dying man continued.

“I ruined my marriage,” the man went on, voice growing steadier as if confession gave him strength. “I chose work. Always work. Missed birthdays. Anniversaries. The little things.” He swallowed, grimacing. “They left. Eventually. I told myself I’d fix it later. That there’d be time.” His eyes burned with sudden intensity. “There wasn’t.”

Kazu’s chest felt tight. “So why are you here?” he asked quietly. “If you don’t regret it?”

The man smiled. Because that’s what it was, a smile. Small. Broken.

“Because knowing it didn’t matter is worse than regret,” he said. “Because I realized… even if I went back, even if I did everything right—”

His breath hitched. “They still wouldn’t love me.” The store felt smaller. The lanterns outside flickered. “I don’t want to accept that,” the man whispered. “I don’t want to let go.”

Reina leaned closer. “This place doesn’t end when you let go of what happened,” she said. “It ends when you stop lying to yourself about who you are.”

The man looked at her. Then he smiled. A sad, broken thing.

“Then I’m already gone,” he said softly. His breathing faltered. Panic flared in his eyes.

“No— wait— please—” he gasped. “I don’t want to disappear—”

Kazu reached out instinctively. The man’s hand clutched his wrist with surprising strength.

“Listen to me,” the man whispered urgently. “This place— it doesn’t care if you’re sorry. It doesn’t care if you’re good.”

His grip tightened. “It only cares if you’re honest.”

The lanterns outside surged. The man’s body went slack. His eyes stared, unseeing. Kazu sat there, frozen, long after the weight left his wrist. Reina closed the man’s eyes. Neither of them spoke nor anyone. Minutes passed. Or seconds. Time felt unreliable here. The store lights flickered.

Outside, the lanterns pulsed softly. Waiting.