Two Days Later
The Akula Building - Floor 13
10:47 AM
Sable stood in front of the elevator, keys to her old apartment clutched in one hand.
She'd been putting this off. Two days of living in the penthouse guest room. Two days of borrowed clothes and toiletries. Two days of avoiding the inevitable.
She had to go back.
Not permanently. Just long enough to pack her life into boxes and bring it here. To this building. To this new reality where magic was real and she owed a supernatural hunter five hundred million dollars.
"You don't have to go alone."
Zale's voice behind her. She turned.
He stood in the hallway, coffee in hand, looking significantly less dead than three days ago. The healing had finished—ribs set, shoulder mobile, color fully returned. Even the emptiness from the augmented rounds had filled back in. Two days of rest and enhanced metabolism had done their work. He was whole again.
"I'm sending a car," Zale continued. "Driver will wait. Help you load boxes. Get you back here safely."
"I can take the bus—"
"No. You can't." His tone left no room for argument. "Your neighborhood isn't safe. And now you're carrying a weapon and know things people shouldn't know." He met her eyes. "Driver. Non-negotiable."
Sable wanted to argue. But he was right. The Glock in her pocket changed things. She couldn't just blend in anymore.
"Okay. Driver."
Zale pulled out his phone. Typed briefly. "Michael will meet you downstairs in ten minutes. He's good. Discreet. Won't ask questions."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. You're an asset now. Assets get protected." He paused. "And Sable—if anything feels wrong in that apartment, you leave immediately. Don't pack. Don't investigate. Just leave."
"You think something's still there?"
"Places remember. Samara stalked that apartment for days. Even with her gone..." He shrugged. "Just be careful."
Sable nodded. "I will."
She pressed the elevator button.
"Text when you're done," Zale said. "We start training tomorrow."
The elevator arrived. She stepped inside.
"I'll be fine," she said. "It's just an apartment."
The doors closed.
Zale stood there for a moment. Then turned away.
The Codex floated beside him. Words flickered on the cover.
ECHOES LINGER. SHADOWS REMEMBER.
"I know," Zale muttered. "But she needs this."
He headed back to the training room. The Archive's report on Newman was waiting. And the news wasn't good.
***
SABLE'S APARTMENT
Michael was exactly what she expected. Mid-forties. Professional. Suit and tie. The kind of driver who'd seen everything and cared about nothing except doing his job.
He'd driven in silence. Parked outside her building. Followed her upstairs carrying empty boxes.
"I'll wait in the car," he said at her door. "Text when you're ready to load."
"Thanks."
He left. Footsteps fading down the stairs.
Sable stood alone. Key in hand. Not moving.
The building looked exactly the same. Three-story walkup. Brick facade. Cracked steps. Burnt-out bulb in the hallway.
It hasn't changed.
But it felt different now.
She unlocked the door.
Pushed it open.
The smell hit first.
Mildew. Damp. Something sour beneath.
The scent of a place that had been corrupted.
Sable stepped inside.
***
The apartment was exactly as she'd left it.
Mostly.
Water stains marked the ceiling. Dark rings spreading like bruises across yellowed plaster. The windows had streaks where handprints had been—she'd cleaned them obsessively before leaving, but the glass was permanently etched. Ghostly impressions of small fingers pressed against the pane from both sides.
The living room carpet squished slightly underfoot. Still damp.
Some places hold onto bad things.
Sable walked through it like a crime scene. Touching nothing. Just looking.
Laptop still open on the desk. Coffee mug beside it, dried residue crusted at the bottom. Posters on the walls—bands she'd loved, aesthetic she'd cultivated.
Her life. Frozen. Rotting.
The kitchen tile was cracked. Hadn't been before. Like something heavy had slammed into it repeatedly.
The bathroom mirror had a hairline fracture spreading from the center. Spider-webbing outward.
She hadn't broken that.
Samara had.
Sable forced herself toward the bedroom.
***
The bedroom was worst.
The door stuck. She had to push hard. It scraped open reluctantly.
Inside smelled like stagnant water. Thick. Overwhelming.
The bed was stripped—she'd taken the soaked sheets to the laundromat before leaving and never brought them back. But the mattress was stained. Dark water marks soaked deep into the fabric. Mold growing in patterns that looked like handprints.
The closet door was open. She'd left it closed.
Sable stared at it.
Just wind. Building settling. Normal.
But her hand went to the Glock anyway.
She approached slowly. Looked inside.
Empty. Just her clothes hanging there. Untouched.
But the back wall was damp. Water beading on the surface. Dripping slowly.
There was no pipe back there. No source. Just drywall.
Get out. Pack your shit and get out.
But she couldn't. Not yet.
This room had tried to break her. Had filled her sleep with drowning. Had marked her for death.
Fuck that.
Sable grabbed the lamp from the nightstand.
Threw it at the wall.
It shattered. Ceramic and glass exploding. Deeply satisfying.
"Fuck you," she said to the empty room. To Samara's memory. To the curse. To seven days of terror. "I survived. And you're dead."
The silence felt heavier after that. Waiting.
Nothing happened.
Good.
Sable started packing.
***
Clothes first. Easy. Mechanical.
She pulled things from the closet. Folded them quickly. Stacked them in boxes.
Band shirts. Corsets. Fishnets. Platform boots.
Her aesthetic. Her identity.
Am I still that person?
She didn't know anymore.
Books next. Occult theory. Horror fiction. Manga.
Most of it felt different now. Fiction couldn't compete with what she'd seen. Real curses. Real ghosts.
But they were still hers.
Then the desk.
Laptop. Tablet. Charging cables.
And underneath—
Her phone.
The cursed phone.
Cracked screen. Water damage visible under the glass. Battery long dead.
The countdown was gone. The curse broken.
But it had almost killed her.
Sable picked it up. Stared at the dark screen.
She should destroy it. Smash it. Burn it.
But she couldn't.
Because it was proof. Evidence. Reminder that the impossible was real.
That she'd survived.
She packed it carefully. In its own box.
Maybe she'd need it someday. Maybe not.
But it was hers.
Thirty minutes later, she was only halfway done.
Her phone—the working one—buzzed.
Text from Michael: How much longer? Need ETA.
Sable looked around. Half-packed. Disorganized chaos.
Shit.
She typed back: 30 minutes?
Make it quick. Schedule's tight.
Of course it was.
Sable abandoned organization. Started throwing things in boxes. Triage mode.
Need. Don't need. Maybe need later.
The stupid novelty mug her ex had given her three years ago—kept it. No idea why. It was ugly and she'd never used it. But it was a piece of who she'd been.
Even the stupid pieces mattered.
Fifteen minutes of controlled chaos and most of her life was boxed.
Good enough.
***
She was taping the last box when someone knocked.
Sable tensed. Hand on the Glock.
"Sable? That you?"
Mrs. Chen. Her neighbor.
Sable relaxed. Opened the door.
Mrs. Chen stood there. Tiny. Smiling. Holding a container that smelled amazing.
"I thought I heard you! Where have you been? Two weeks! I was worried!"
"I... had to go away. Family emergency."
"Emergency?" Mrs. Chen's smile faded. "Everyone okay?"
"Yeah. Everyone's fine. Just had to deal with some stuff."
Mrs. Chen studied her face. Really looked. Then nodded slowly.
"You look different. Thinner. Tired." She tilted her head. "But stronger. Like you went through something hard and came out the other side."
Sable didn't know what to say to that.
Mrs. Chen handed her the container. "Kimchi stew. You need to eat. You look like you haven't slept in days."
"I haven't. Not really."
"Then eat. Sleep. Take care of yourself." She patted Sable's arm. "And if you need anything, you come talk to me, okay?"
"I'm actually moving out," Sable said quietly. "Got a new place. Closer to... work."
"Oh." Mrs. Chen looked genuinely sad. Then glanced past Sable into the apartment.
Her expression changed. Hardened.
"This place always felt cold to me," she said suddenly. "Especially these past few weeks. Like something was watching. Waiting. Wrong." She looked at Sable directly. "You felt it too, didn't you?"
Sable's throat tightened. "Yeah. I felt it."
"Good that you're leaving then. Some places hold onto bad things. They don't let go." Mrs. Chen squeezed her arm. "You go somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. And don't come back here. Ever."
"I won't."
"Promise me."
"I promise."
Mrs. Chen smiled. Sad but genuine. "Good girl. You take care."
She turned to leave. Stopped. Looked back.
"Whatever happened here—whatever you went through—you're still standing. That's what matters." She nodded once. Final. "Be strong, Sable."
Then she went back to her apartment. Door closing softly.
Sable stood there. Container of stew in hand.
Whatever happened here—you're still standing.
Yeah. She was.
***
Twenty minutes later, Sable stood in the empty apartment one last time.
Bare walls. Empty shelves. Just furniture and water stains and the ghost of who she'd been.
This was home. Now it's just a place.
She felt nothing. No sadness. No nostalgia. No regret.
Just acceptance.
She'd survived. She'd moved on.
That was enough.
Sable closed the door. Locked it.
Went downstairs.
Mrs. Chen's door opened as she passed. The old woman stood there. Watching.
"You take care of yourself," Mrs. Chen said.
"I will."
"Good." She started to close the door. Stopped. "And Sable? Don't look back. Not even once."
The door closed.
Sable walked down the last flight of stairs.
Dropped her key in the landlord's mailbox.
Pushed through the front door into cold November air.
Michael was waiting by the car. Boxes already loaded.
"Ready?" he asked.
Sable looked back at the building.
At the third-floor window. Her old apartment.
For just a moment—she could've sworn—
Something moved behind the glass.
She blinked. Gone.
Don't look back. Not even once.
"Yeah," Sable said. "I'm ready."
She got in the car.
Michael pulled away from the curb.
Sable didn't look back again.
***
THE AKULA BUILDING - PENTHOUSE
The boxes were already in her room when she arrived.
Stacked neatly against one wall. Her life compressed into eight cardboard containers.
That's it. That's everything I own.
It should have felt sad.
Instead, it felt freeing.
Like shedding weight she didn't need anymore.
Sable opened the first box. Started unpacking.
Clothes in the closet. Books on the shelf. Laptop on the desk.
The cursed phone she put in the nightstand drawer. Out of sight but not gone.
Evidence. Proof. Reminder.
The novelty mug went on her desk. Stupid and ugly and hers.
An hour later, the room looked lived-in. Not home yet. But close.
Sable sat on the bed. Looked around.
This is my life now.
Not the life she'd planned. Not the life she'd wanted.
But the life she'd chosen.
By refusing to kill strangers. By accepting the debt. By walking into Zale's office and asking for help.
I chose this.
And despite everything—the debt, the terror, the uncertainty—
She didn't regret it.
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
Zale entered. Looked around at the unpacked boxes. The decorated room.
"Settling in?"
"Yeah. Getting there."
He handed her a tablet. "Start with this. Case files from the last six months. Low-level incidents. Study them. Learn the patterns. Tomorrow we discuss what makes something worth investigating versus what's just noise."
Sable took the tablet. "That's it? Just read?"
"Theory first. You don't learn to hunt by jumping into fights. You learn by understanding what you're hunting." He turned to leave. Stopped. "And Sable—how did it go? At the apartment?"
"Fine. Got what I needed. Said goodbye."
Zale studied her face. Nodded. "Good. Moving forward is better than looking back."
He left.
Sable opened the tablet. Started reading.
Case File #1: Poltergeist Activity - Milwaukee, WI
Case File #2: Suspected Possession - Portland, OR
Case File #3: Cursed Object - Boston, MA
Real cases. Real threats. Real people who'd needed help.
This was her world now.
She kept reading.
***
Later -11:34 PM
Sable lay in bed. Staring at the ceiling.
New place. New bed. New everything.
But for the first time in weeks, she didn't feel afraid.
Just tired.
Ready to sleep.
Outside, Haddonfield slept. Unaware that in a penthouse apartment, a girl was rebuilding her life from scratch.
Unaware that monsters were real.
Unaware that someone hunted them.
And now, someone was learning to help.
Sable closed her eyes.
No drowning. No nightmares. No countdown.
Just darkness.
And rest.
Finally.
[END Of THE RING ARC]
***
AUTHOR'S NOTE:-
Hey everyone,
Thanks for sticking with this one. The Ring arc got longer than I originally planned.
Quick question for you all:
What should Zale hunt next?
I'm curious what you want to see. Feel free to choose from the list of nightmares (literally every horror movie/game/creepypasta exists in this world).
Should he tackle:
- Another iconic slasher?
- Something Lovecraftian?
- Urban legend territory (Slender Man's been watching since Chapter 7...)?
- A completely different flavor of horror?
Drop your thoughts in the comments. I'll appreciate everyone .Should be fun.
Thanks for reading,