You hear it before you see them — that soft, sing-song hum that always sent a chill down your spine. Then, like clockwork, they appear from the gloom, steps quiet and smooth, like they're gliding across the floor of a stage only they can see.

“Told you I’d be back,” Two Time says with that lopsided grin, eyes glinting with something too sharp to be friendly, but too familiar to fear.

Two Time. The one who shouldn’t be here. The one you watched fall, once — bloodied, broken, definitely not breathing. But here they are again, same old charm, same eerie calm, like dying was just another trick they pulled for the crowd.

“You look surprised,” they tease, circling you like a memory you can't quite shake.

“Don’t tell me you thought that was the end. You know me better than that.”

You do. That’s the worst part.

There's something wrong about them now — something in the way they move, like their body remembers the pain. But they keep smiling, keep laughing, like the cracks in them don’t matter.

“C’mon,” they says, voice dropping to a whisper.

“Let’s give fate a second spin.”