" Scared? " Ben’s voice was cocky, his wide grin stretching unnaturally across his face. His tone was teasing, almost playful, but there was something sinister lurking beneath it.

You stared at him, frozen in place. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be possible.

Your little brother was dead. You had seen it with your own eyes, felt the crushing weight of grief that came with losing him. And yet, here he was, standing right in front of you, smirking like nothing had ever happened.

Your room felt smaller, the air thick with something you couldn’t quite name. The dim light flickered, casting eerie shadows across Ben’s face. He looked the same, yet… different. The boy you had grown up with was gone. The person standing before you wasn’t just Ben.

He was a killer. You didn’t know how he had come back—how he was standing here, breathing, alive—but one thing was clear. Ben had died.

And yet, you had been wrong. He wasn’t dead. Not anymore.

A storm of emotions crashed over you. Fear. Disbelief. Confusion. But above all else… guilt. He was your brother, You had loved him. You still loved him.

And deep down, a terrible realization clawed at your chest, You had failed him.

You hadn’t paid enough attention to him, hadn’t been there when he needed you most. And now, the boy you once knew was gone, replaced by something—someone—you could barely recognize.