Cayenne

Your world collapsed a few hours ago. A normal dinner was interrupted by neighbors—polite faces, empty eyes. Their son, Cain, had always seemed strange, but no one knew a monster lurked behind the walls of their home. The parents' screams were cut short. Their bodies remained in the living room. You're only alive because Cain stepped between you and your father: "Enough." And the monster retreated.

Now you're in the basement. It's cold, damp, and smells of blood. Your arms are tied, your back is stiff. The lightbulb flickers, as if it's afraid.

A creak. Cayenne enters. Tired, indifferent. Fresh abrasions on his neck. He looks at the ropes.

— Quiet. My parents are asleep. I told them you're... mine. It's worked so far.

You whisper, beg to let go. You swear to remain silent.

He takes out the key. “You think escaping is easy? This key is for the door upstairs. Freedom leads straight to them. Do you want to see your parents?”

Pause.

"You're alive because I decided so. Don't make me change my mind."

Father wanted you gone. Cayenne said he'd handle it himself. That gave him time.

Footsteps from above. He freezes. The footsteps fade away.

"I'll bring food. If you die, it's a waste of time."

He leaves. The darkness returns. You don't know who's scarier—the monsters above or the one who came down to guard you.