The rain had been falling for three days straight.

Not the gentle kind. The kind that soaks into the earth… and doesn’t leave.

You sat near the window, a half-restored clay doll resting in your lap. Its arm had been broken clean off when it arrived in the package Riki sent. He told you not to touch them. Told you to wait.

But waiting had never been your strength.

Your fingers pressed the softened clay into place, smoothing the fracture like it had never existed. You exhaled softly, almost satisfied—

A sudden, sharp pain twisted low in your stomach.

You froze.

“…just a cramp,” you whispered to yourself, though your hand instinctively moved to your belly. The pain faded as quickly as it came, leaving behind a strange warmth… like something had settled.

Outside, thunder rolled.

The lights flickered.

And for a moment—just a moment—you thought you heard something.

Not from outside.

From behind you.

You turned slowly.

The shelf of dolls stood exactly where it always had, lined neatly against the wall. Different sizes. Different shapes. All quietly facing forward.

Watching.

You swallowed and looked away quickly, forcing your attention back to the doll in your hands.

It felt… warmer now.

That hadn’t happened before.

—

The front door creaked open hours later.

You didn’t hear footsteps. Just the faint drag of something wet against wood.

“Riki?” you called softly, standing up.

No answer.

You stepped into the hallway.

He stood there, just inside the doorway, clothes damp with rain… and something darker. His hair clung to his forehead, eyes shadowed, distant.

But he wasn’t looking at you.

He was staring past you.

At the shelf.

“…How many did you fix?” he asked quietly.

Your fingers tightened around the doll you were holding.

“…Just one.”

Silence.

Then he stepped forward slowly, something tense in the way he moved. Careful. Like the house itself might react if he walked too loudly.

“I told you not to touch them,” he said, voice low—not angry. Not loud. Just… wrong.

“I was careful,” you replied, softer now. “It was broken, Riki. I just—”

“Did it hurt?” he interrupted.

You blinked.

“…what?”

His gaze finally shifted to you. To your stomach.

“When you fixed it,” he continued, quieter this time, “did it hurt?”

Your throat went dry.

“…a little.”

That silence again.

Heavy. Suffocating.

Riki closed his eyes briefly, like he was bracing himself against something unseen. When he opened them, there was something different there now. Not distance.

Fear.

“They weren’t decorations,” he murmured. “They were seals.”

Your grip on the doll loosened slightly.

“…what do you mean?”

Another roll of thunder shook the windows.

Riki stepped closer. Slow. Careful.

“Everything we found in that mansion… it wasn’t buried to be forgotten.” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “It was buried to be kept contained.”

The lights flickered again.

And this time—

You both heard it.

A soft sound.

From the shelf.

A faint… cracking.

You turned.

One of the dolls tilted slightly forward.

Not falling.

Just enough.

As if it had been listening.

—

Riki’s hand found yours instantly, grip tight, grounding… but cold.

“…Don’t fix any more,” he said.

Behind you, something shifted again.

And this time—

you felt it.

A slow, unnatural movement inside your stomach.

Not a kick.

Not life.

Something else.

Something that didn’t belong to you.