The Midnight Shuttle

Chapter 3 : The House His Father Could Never Empty

The old angkot labored up the winding mountain road, its aging engine groaning with every climb. Around it, the forest stood silent beneath a veil of silver mist, while towering pine trees loomed like forgotten sentinels guarding the darkness.

Aditia eased his foot onto the brake, the engine coughed once, then surrendered to silence.

For a long moment, he remained behind the steering wheel, both hands resting lightly upon it as his eyes settled on the estate ahead.

Beyond a rusted iron gate, half-hidden beneath vines that had claimed it as their own, stood an enormous mansion.

Even beneath the pale moonlight, it was easy to imagine how magnificent it had once been.

Tall windows stretched across its weathered façade. Marble columns still held the front porch upright despite the cracks running through them. Time had stolen its beauty little by little, yet traces of elegance stubbornly refused to disappear.

It didn't look abandoned.

It looked forgotten.

As though the world itself had decided to pretend it no longer existed.

"So..." A familiar voice drifted lazily from above.

"You actually came." Aditia didn't bother looking up.

"Get off my roof, Al-Amir."

A heartbeat later, the young jin dropped effortlessly onto the hood of the angkot. He landed with both hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, wearing the same smug grin that always made Aditia want to throw something at him.

"I was comfortable up there."

"You scratched my roof."

"It already had scratches."

Aditia sighed.

"You really enjoy making my life difficult, don't you?"

"I've been doing it since your father was your age."

Al-Amir answered so casually that Aditia couldn't tell whether he was joking.

Probably not.

The jin turned toward the mansion, his grin slowly disappeared.

"...Huh."

Aditia noticed the change immediately.

"What?"

Al-Amir didn't answer at first. He simply stared at the mansion, his golden eyes unusually serious.

"I've passed this place more times than I can remember."

"And?"

"I've never wanted to get closer."

That was enough to make Aditia frown.

"You? Afraid?"

Al-Amir snorted. "Wrong word."

"Then what?"

"I'm smart." The answer earned a quiet chuckle.

"I bother humans for fun." He nodded toward the mansion.

"I don't bother... whatever lives in there." The joke should have been funny.

Instead, it settled heavily between them.

Aditia reached beneath the dashboard and pulled out an old leather notebook.

The cover had softened with age. Rain had stained several corners, and the edges of its pages had turned yellow after years of being carried from one journey to the next.

His father's notebook.

He opened it carefully.

Almost every page contained detailed observations, names, sketches, and handwritten notes.

Only one case looked different.

Mountain Estate

Attempt One.

Failed.

Attempt Two.

Failed.

Attempt Three.

Failed.

Attempt Four.

Failed.

Attempt Five.

Failed.

Nothing else.

No explanation.

No warning.

No conclusion.

Just five failures.

Aditia slowly turned the page.

At the bottom, written in darker ink than everything else, were two simple words.

Find Nona.

He traced the handwriting with his thumb.

His father had never spoken about this case.

Not once.

Yet somehow...

These two words felt heavier than every page that came before them.

He closed the notebook and slipped it back inside his jacket.

His fingers brushed against the small keris resting at his waist.

The carved wooden sheath felt strangely warm against his palm, the memory returned without warning.

"Some passengers aren't alive." His father's voice sounded as calm as it always had. "Some aren't even human."

Aditia could still remember laughing, convinced it was another one of his father's strange jokes.

Until the night he inherited the angkot. Until the first passenger smiled at him through a rear-view mirror...

...without leaving a reflection.

His grip tightened around the keris.

"I'm going in."

Al-Amir looked at him as though he had just volunteered to jump into the ocean during a storm.

"You still have time to change your mind."

"I know."

"So?"

Aditia smiled faintly.

"My father came here five times."

His gaze returned to the mansion.

"He never stopped trying."

Al-Amir slipped both hands into his hoodie pockets.

"You're just as stubborn as he was."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Neither of them spoke again.

Together, they walked toward the rusted gate.

It groaned softly as Aditia pushed it open, the sound echoing across the silent estate before disappearing into the stillness.

Beyond the gate, a narrow stone path cut through waist-high grass, leading toward the mansion. No insects chirped. No leaves rustled. Even the wind seemed reluctant to cross the threshold.

Halfway across the courtyard, Aditia slowed.

Something felt wrong, not threatening, not hostile.

Just unbearably sad, as though every stone beneath his feet had carried someone's grief for far too many years.

He looked up.

The mansion hadn't changed.

It simply stood there, silent and patient, as though it had been waiting for him all along.

The mansion looked even larger from the front steps.

Its towering entrance rose above Aditia like the gate of an old cathedral, supported by weathered marble pillars whose faded carvings hinted at the wealth that had once filled this place. Creeping vines coiled around them like silent hands reclaiming what time had abandoned.

He climbed the short staircase.

Before reaching the front door, he found himself standing in a small stone courtyard no wider than a few strides.

For some reason...

He stopped.

The courtyard should have felt ordinary.

Instead, an uneasy feeling settled over him.

It was as though an invisible line had been drawn across the stone floor.

One step farther...

...and there would be no turning back.

Behind him, Al-Amir remained standing outside the courtyard with his hands tucked inside his hoodie.

"Aren't you coming?" Aditia asked.

The jin shook his head immediately.

"I've already come farther than I planned."

"You were clinging to my roof all the way here."

"I was curious."

"And now?"

"I'm cured." Aditia laughed under his breath.

"You really are useless."

"I prefer the word alive."

That earned another smile.

Yet Al-Amir never moved.

Not even a single step.

Aditia turned back toward the house.

The brass doorknob caught the moonlight.

Though its golden finish had faded beneath years of neglect, traces of its former shine still lingered beneath the peeling surface.

Someone had once polished it with care.

Every day.

Until no one remained to do so.

He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal.

It refused to move at first.

Then—

Krrriiiieeeet...

The heavy wooden door slowly opened inward.

The sound echoed through the mansion before fading into an overwhelming silence.

A breath of cool air drifted out to greet him.

It carried no smell of decay.

No mold.

Only aged timber...

Dust...

And the faint fragrance of jasmine.

The scent was so delicate that he almost thought he had imagined it.

He stepped inside.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Moonlight spilled through broken windows, painting pale ribbons across the dusty floor. Tiny particles floated lazily through the beams of light, undisturbed for what felt like decades.

His flashlight swept across the entrance hall.

The first thing it found was a large fish pond built into the center of the room.

Long ago, it must have been beautiful.

Now it lay dry and forgotten.

Cracked stones lined the bottom where clear water had once reflected the ceiling above. Dead leaves rested among scattered pebbles, while thin roots had forced their way through the broken masonry.

It looked less like an empty pond...

...and more like a grave.

Aditia slowly walked around it.

His footsteps echoed softly through the mansion.

Every sound lingered longer than it should have.

As if the house disliked silence...

Yet feared noise even more.

His flashlight drifted farther into the hall.

Old furniture remained exactly where it had been left.

White sheets draped over long sofas.

A grandfather clock leaned against one wall, forever frozen at 2:17.

A chandelier hung above him, wrapped in thick curtains of cobwebs that shimmered whenever the flashlight touched them.

Nothing had been stolen.

Nothing had been moved.

It felt as though everyone had simply...

Walked away.

His light stopped at a collection of framed family portraits.

One by one, he studied them.

Elegant clothing.

Expensive jewelry.

Children standing proudly beside their parents.

Yet every single face had been violently scratched away.

Not by age.

Not by insects.

By someone's hand.

Deep cuts crossed every pair of eyes.

Every smile.

Every expression.

The frames trembled slightly as Aditia reached toward one of them.

"Who hated this family that much?" he murmured.

"The living usually do." Al-Amir answered from outside.

"The dead just hold grudges." Aditia glanced over his shoulder.

The jin still stood beyond the doorway, he hadn't crossed the threshold, not even by accident.

"You really aren't coming in?"

"No."

"Seriously?"

Al-Amir folded his arms.

"I know when I don't belong."

There was no joke this time.

Only certainty.

Aditia looked at him for another moment before nodding.

"I'll be back."

"You'd better."

His voice was quiet.

Much quieter than before.

Aditia turned away and continued deeper into the mansion.

Beyond the entrance hall stood a sweeping staircase that curved gracefully toward the second floor. Golden ornaments decorated the railing, their faded brilliance refusing to surrender entirely to time.

He placed one foot on the first step.

Creeaak...

The sound echoed upward.

Then...

Another sound answered.

Tap...

Aditia froze.

His flashlight stopped moving.

Silence.

Then—

Tap...

Bare feet.

Soft.

Unhurried.

Somewhere above him.

He slowly raised the flashlight toward the second floor.

Nothing.

Only darkness.

A faint breeze drifted through the corridor.

With it came the unmistakable scent of jasmine.

Stronger now.

Almost fresh.

Then...

At the very end of the upstairs hallway...

A woman dressed entirely in white crossed the beam of his flashlight.

Only for an instant.

She never looked at him.

She simply disappeared around the corner.

Aditia lowered the flashlight, his heartbeat echoed louder than the creaking house, without realizing it...

He had already started climbing the stairs.

The staircase curved gently to the left before ending in a wide hallway, Aditia stepped onto the second floor and instinctively slowed his pace, the air felt different here. Heavier.

The silence below had been unsettling, the silence upstairs felt... alive.

Three doors stood open along the corridor.

The room nearest the stairs appeared to be a nursery. A wooden crib rested beneath a tall window, its white paint peeling away after years of neglect. Scattered toys lay untouched across the floor, buried beneath a thin blanket of dust.

The second room was much larger.

A grand bed dominated its center, surrounded by elegant furniture whose polished surfaces had long since surrendered to age.

Moonlight spilled through cracked windows, casting pale shadows across the faded wallpaper.

The last room stood completely empty.

No bed, no wardrobe, no pictures.

Nothing!

Only bare wooden floorboards stretching toward four cracked walls.

It felt strangely out of place.

As though someone's existence had been carefully erased. Aditia swept his flashlight across the hallway once more.

Nothing. No footsteps, no voices.

Only the quiet creaking of old timber settling beneath its own weight.

He was about to lower the flashlight...

...when a strip of white fabric drifted across the edge of the beam.

His breath caught.

At the far end of the corridor stood a woman.

She faced away from him.

A long white dress flowed to the floor, untouched by the dust that covered everything around her. Her dark hair fell in gentle waves, reaching almost to her ankles, hiding most of her back from view.

She stood perfectly still.

Not threatening.

Not frightening.

Simply...

Waiting.

For a long moment, Aditia said nothing.

His father's words echoed quietly inside his mind.

"Never begin with fear."

"Begin with kindness."

He slipped the flashlight into his jacket pocket so its harsh beam wouldn't fall directly on her.

Then he took a careful step forward.

"Good evening."

His voice barely disturbed the silence.

"My name is Aditia."

The woman didn't answer.

"I came because..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "...I'd like to take you home."

Still nothing.

Only the faint scent of jasmine drifting through the hallway.

Gentle.

Comforting.

Almost nostalgic.

Aditia took another slow step.

"I won't force you."

"I'm only here to listen."

The woman remained silent, then...

Almost imperceptibly... She began to move.

Her bare feet glided across the old wooden floor without making a sound, not once did she look back.

She simply walked toward the nursery, Aditia followed at a respectful distance.

Unlike her, every step he took caused the floorboards to groan beneath him. The woman stopped beside the old crib.

She lowered her head slightly.

As though looking at someone sleeping inside it.

The room was empty.

Yet she smiled.

A smile so gentle, that Aditia instinctively looked inside the crib himself.

Nothing.

Only dust.

The woman slowly raised both arms. Only then did Aditia notice...

She had been carrying something against her chest all along, wrapped carefully in white cloth. So carefully that, from behind, it had blended into her dress.

His heartbeat quickened. Very gently... She rocked the bundle from side to side. A lullaby escaped her lips. Soft.

Almost too soft to hear.

It was the kind of melody every child deserved to fall asleep to, for a brief moment... The abandoned nursery no longer felt abandoned.

It felt like a home. A mother. A child. A family waiting for someone to return. Aditia stopped only a few steps behind her.

"I think..." He smiled faintly.

"...your baby is falling asleep."

The woman nodded.

"So am I." Her answer was barely above a whisper.

"He always sleeps better after crying."

Aditia felt his chest tighten.

She spoke as though everything were perfectly normal, as though time itself had never moved forward.

Very slowly...

She turned around.

The smile on her face was warm. Peaceful, filled with quiet hope.

In her arms rested a newborn baby wrapped tightly in white cloth.

Only...

The cloth wasn't white anymore.

Dark crimson stains spread across it from top to bottom.

Fresh blood dripped steadily from one corner of the blanket.

Drip.

A single drop landed on the wooden floor.

The woman looked lovingly at the child before lifting her eyes toward Aditia.

There wasn't a trace of hatred in her expression.

Only the quiet sincerity of a mother.

"My husband will be home soon."

She smiled.

"May my baby come with us too?"

Aditia forgot how to breathe.

For a long moment...

Neither of them moved.

The baby lay quietly in the woman's arms.

Its tiny face was hidden beneath the bloodstained blanket, yet she held it with such tenderness that Aditia almost forgot what he had just seen.

She wasn't looking at him.

She was looking past him.

Toward the window.

As though expecting someone to arrive at any moment.

"My husband should be here soon," she said softly.

"He promised."

Aditia followed her gaze.

Beyond the broken glass, the forest slept beneath the moonlight. Mist drifted silently between the trees.

There was no road.

No carriage.

No footsteps.

No one was coming.

Still...

He didn't argue.

His father had taught him that forcing the truth upon a wandering soul only pushed it farther away.

Instead, he asked gently, "What is your husband's name?"

The woman smiled.

"Setiawan."

The answer sent a quiet shiver through him.

The same name.

Exactly as it appeared in the old newspaper clipping his father had kept inside the notebook.

"And your name?"

She looked down at the baby before answering.

"Gita."

Again...

Exactly as the newspaper had said.

Everything matched.

Yet something still felt wrong.

Aditia couldn't explain why.

He simply...

Couldn't believe it.

His eyes wandered around the nursery once more.

The old crib.

The rocking horse.

The cracked wardrobe.

Then something caught his attention.

A faded photograph rested on top of a small wooden cabinet.

Half of it had been ruined by moisture.

He picked it up carefully.

The woman didn't stop him.

She merely watched in silence.

The photograph showed a young servant standing in the courtyard.

She wore a simple dress.

She smiled shyly at the camera.

Beside her stood an elderly gardener.

No wealthy family.

No husband.

No child.

Only two ordinary people.

Aditia frowned.

He turned the photograph over.

Someone had written a name in blue ink years ago.

Time had erased most of the letters.

Only four remained.

...ona

His heartbeat slowed.

Not from relief.

From realization.

His hand instinctively reached into his jacket.

He pulled out his father's notebook and opened the final page.

The last entry stared back at him.

Find Nona.

Not...

Find Gita.

His eyes returned to the photograph.

Then to the woman standing quietly beside the crib.

Something wasn't right.

He lowered the notebook.

"You said your name is Gita." She nodded.

"Yes."

Aditia hesitated.

Then held the old photograph toward her.

"Then..."

"...who is Nona?"

The question hung in the room.

The woman's smile disappeared.

Not gradually.

Instantly.

Her eyes locked onto the photograph. Confusion flickered across her face.

"I..."

She reached toward it with trembling fingers.

"I know..." Her voice faltered.

"...that name."

A deep c***k echoed somewhere inside the mansion.

KRAAAK...

The walls trembled.

Dust rained gently from the ceiling.

The nursery door slammed shut behind Aditia.

BANG!

He spun around.

The handle refused to move.

Another c***k echoed through the house.

The old rocking chair beside the crib began moving by itself.

Back...

And forth...

Back...

And forth...

The lullaby returned.

Only now...

It wasn't gentle.

It sounded distant.

Broken.

As though dozens of voices were singing it at once.

The woman staggered backward.

Her breathing became uneven.

"No..." She clutched her head with both hands.

"No..."

"That's not..."

"My name..." The baby in her arms began to cry.

A soft cry at first.

Then louder.

And louder.

The woman fell to her knees.

"I can't remember..." Tears streamed down her face.

"I..."

"Who..."

"Who am I?" Aditia's heart ached.

This wasn't rage, this wasn't hatred, it was something far crueler.

Someone...

Had stolen her identity.

The entire mansion shook violently.

Portraits crashed onto the floor.

Glass shattered.

The chandelier overhead swayed wildly.

And then—

Everything stopped.

The silence returned.

The woman slowly lifted her tear-filled eyes toward Aditia.

Her lips trembled.

Almost soundlessly...

She whispered,

"...Help me remember."

The moment the words left her lips...

The nursery vanished.

The floor beneath Aditia's feet dissolved into darkness.

For an instant, he felt weightless.

Then—

Rain.

Cold drops struck his face one after another.

He gasped.

The abandoned mansion was gone.

In its place stood the same estate...

Alive.

Warm lanterns glowed from every window, their golden light reflecting across a fish pond filled with crystal-clear water. Servants crossed the courtyard carrying baskets and bundles of firewood while children laughed somewhere in the distance.

Life.

The mansion had once been full of it.

Aditia looked around in silence.

No one acknowledged his presence, he reached toward a passing servant, his hand slipped straight through the man's shoulder.

"A memory...," he whispered.

He wasn't seeing the past. He was standing inside it. Then he heard it.

A baby's laughter.

Bright.

Carefree.

The sound drifted from the servants' quarters.

Drawn by it, Aditia turned.

A young woman sat beneath the wooden veranda, gently rocking an infant in her arms.

She looked several years younger than the woman upstairs.

Her dress was simple.

Her hair was neatly tied behind her back.

There was no fear in her eyes.

Only quiet happiness.

She kissed the baby's forehead.

"Your father will be home soon," she whispered.

"He promised us."

Aditia recognized that smile immediately.

"Nona..."

The name escaped his lips before he realized it.

The young woman suddenly looked toward the front gate.

Hope lit up her face.

A carriage had arrived.

Its polished wheels rolled across the stone courtyard before stopping in front of the mansion.

The door opened.

A woman stepped out.

Elegant.

Beautiful.

Wrapped in an expensive kebaya embroidered with golden thread.

Jewels sparkled around her neck despite the rain.

Every servant immediately lowered their heads.

The woman didn't return a single greeting.

Her cold eyes found Nona almost instantly.

"So..." she said calmly, "you're still here."

Nona quickly stood. Keeping the baby close against her chest, she lowered her head respectfully.

"Good evening, Madam." The older woman ignored the greeting. Instead, she looked directly at the infant.

"So this..." she murmured.

"...is his child." Nona's face turned pale.

"Madam..."

"Please..."

The woman walked closer. Each step measured. Graceful. Cruel.

"My husband has been gone for months."

She stopped only a few feet away.

"So tell me..."

"...who fathered that child?"

Nona lowered her eyes.

"He did."

Silence spread across the courtyard.

Even the servants stopped moving.

"He promised..."

Nona's voice trembled.

"...that he'd come back."

The wealthy woman laughed quietly.

Not loudly.

Not mockingly.

Simply...

Without kindness.

"My husband makes promises far too easily."

Tears welled in Nona's eyes as she lowered her gaze to the baby sleeping peacefully in her arms. Her fingers trembled against the tiny blanket, as though she feared even the slightest movement might wake him.

"I never wanted anything," she whispered. "I never wanted his money. I never wanted this house. I only wanted... our child."

For the first time, the wealthy woman's expression hardened.

"And what happens when that child grows up?" the wealthy woman asked, taking one slow step closer. "What happens when he asks who his father is? What happens when he demands his father's name? If he bears my husband's blood..." Her gaze fell upon the infant. "...then one day he'll claim my husband's inheritance."

Nona shook her head desperately. "He won't. I'll leave. I swear I'll disappear. I'll never come back." Her voice cracked as she slowly dropped to her knees, clutching the baby tightly against her chest. "Please... just let us go."

For the first time, the wealthy woman looked directly into the baby's face. Her expression never changed as she turned calmly toward the estate manager.

"Bury them."

The old man froze. "...Madam?"

"You heard me."

"They're innocent."

"So?" She adjusted one of her gloves with infuriating composure. "Innocence has never protected anyone."

The servants exchanged uncertain glances, neither daring to move. Their hesitation lasted only a heartbeat before the woman asked quietly, "Must I repeat myself?"

Fear won.

The men stepped forward.

Nona instinctively backed away, hugging her baby so tightly that the child began to cry. Rain poured harder, thunder rolled across the mountains, and before she could escape, rough hands seized her shoulders.

She screamed—not because they grabbed her, and not because she was afraid to die. She screamed because they were tearing her baby from her arms.

"My baby! Please... my baby!"

"Stop!" Aditia lunged forward instinctively, his voice echoing across the rain-soaked courtyard, but no one turned. His desperate cry passed through them like the wind because he wasn't truly there. He was only a witness trapped inside Nona's memory, forced to watch the cruelest moment of her life unfold before his eyes without the power to save either her or her child.

As the baby slipped from Nona's arms, something inside Aditia broke.

The baby's cries echoed across the courtyard as rain continued to pour from the dark sky. One of the servants tore the infant from Nona's arms, but she fought with everything she had—not to save herself, only to reach her child.

"My baby!"

She stumbled forward, only to have one servant seize her shoulders while another locked her wrists. Still she kept reaching, her trembling fingers stretching desperately toward the crying infant.

For one impossible heartbeat, their fingertips almost touched.

Then the distance between them grew.

Nona collapsed to her knees as the world blurred beneath tears and rain. The wealthy woman watched without the slightest change in expression.

"Bury them."

The order was spoken so quietly... yet everyone obeyed.

The servants carried the crying baby toward an open grave behind the mansion. Nona broke free and ran after them, throwing herself into the grave before anyone could stop her. She gathered the child against her chest, curled her body around him, and shielded him with everything she had.

The first shovelful of earth struck her back.

She didn't move.

The second buried her legs.

Still, she only held the baby tighter.

Then, very softly, she began to sing.

It was the same lullaby Aditia had heard upstairs. Even as soil covered her shoulders, she kept singing. Even as darkness swallowed the grave, she kept singing... until, at last, the song faded into silence.

The memory shattered.

Aditia stumbled backward, his breathing coming in ragged gasps as the abandoned nursery slowly returned around him. Dust drifted through pale moonlight, broken furniture stood exactly where it had been left, and for a brief moment he wondered if any of it had truly happened.

Everything looked exactly as before.

Except for Nona.

She still stood beside the crib with the baby resting peacefully in her arms. There was no blood, no tears, only the quiet innocence of a sleeping child. For the first time, she looked at her baby instead of the window, as though she finally remembered where she truly belonged.

"My name..." she whispered. "...is Nona."

A single tear slipped down her cheek.

"I waited so long... because I forgot."

Aditia slowly approached her, his father's notebook still tucked safely inside his jacket. Suddenly, everything made sense. Five attempts. Five failures. Pak Mulyana had never failed because he lacked strength; he had failed because Nona had never remembered who she truly was. How could anyone guide her home when she was still waiting inside the wrong life?

"Nona," Aditia said softly.

She lifted her eyes to meet his.

"There's nothing left for you to wait for."

She looked toward the broken window one last time. There were no footsteps, no carriage, no husband returning from the sea. Only moonlight spilling quietly across the floor.

Slowly, she smiled.

Not the smile of someone still clinging to hope, but the peaceful smile of someone who had finally accepted the truth.

"My child..." she whispered. "Can we go home together?"

Aditia smiled and held out his hand.

"Together."

Nona looked at it for a long moment before placing her free hand in his. Warm golden light spread gently through the nursery, flowing across the floor like the first light of dawn. Wherever it touched, cracked walls mended themselves, dust disappeared, and the broken crib quietly returned to the way it had once been, untouched by tragedy.

She looked around the restored nursery before lowering her eyes to the child sleeping peacefully in her arms.

"Thank you."

There was no sadness left in her voice.

Only peace.

Mother and child slowly dissolved into countless golden lights that drifted upward together, higher and higher, until they disappeared beyond the ceiling. Only the faint fragrance of jasmine remained.

The mansion fell silent once more—not the suffocating silence that had greeted Aditia, but the peaceful silence left behind after a promise had finally been fulfilled.

Aditia stood there for several moments before taking his father's notebook from his jacket. Beneath the final entry—

Find Nona.

He uncapped his pen. His hand trembled only once before he wrote a single word.

Found.

After a brief pause, he added one final sentence.

She went home with her child.

A gentle breeze turned the page by itself, and the notebook slowly closed. Resting his hand on the worn leather cover, Aditia smiled faintly.

"I finished it, Dad."

His voice disappeared into the empty room.

Yet somehow...

He no longer felt alone.

The old angkot rolled quietly down the mountain road as dawn slowly painted the eastern sky. For the first time since entering the mansion, Aditia allowed himself a small smile.

One soul had found her way home.

One promise had finally been fulfilled.

As he rounded the final bend, a barefoot woman in a plain white dress suddenly stepped into the middle of the road.

Aditia's eyes widened.

SCREEEEEECH!

He slammed both feet onto the brake. The angkot skidded sideways before stopping only inches from her. His heart pounded violently as he threw open the driver's door.

"Miss!"

No answer.

The road was empty.

Only drifting mist remained.

Aditia frowned.

"...I could've sworn..."

He turned back toward the angkot. Every seat looked empty. Letting out a slow breath, he rubbed the back of his neck.

Maybe exhaustion was finally catching up to him.

Then a soft breath brushed against his ear.

"So handsome..."

A young woman's playful giggle sent a chill through his body.

"I want a ride too."

Every muscle in Aditia's body froze.

Very slowly, he lifted his eyes toward the rear-view mirror.

A young woman sat alone in the very last seat, smiling patiently as though she had been waiting for him all along.

The angkot's engine died.

Click.

The silence that followed felt far colder than the one inside the mansion.