Jerry ground my work ID under his shoe.

“Now you’re scared? Too late!”

Suddenly, his silver-haired henchman screamed, “Jerry! The car… the car won’t start! The engine compartment is like a boiling pot!”

Jerry spun around sharply. From the Bentley’s hood came strange clicking sounds and the dashboard needles twitched wildly like a dying fish.

His expression darkened instantly. He grabbed my collar, yanking me toward the Bentley, his nails digging into my neck.

“Did you hear that? You wrecked my car! Take me home now, or you’ll be paying for the repairs until the next life!”

“I have to leave…” I couldn’t agree to his demand—it was time to go.

“Go to hell!”

He jabbed his finger toward the Bentley’s emblem.

“The front bumper and paint job alone will cost at least 500,000 dollars! Either you take me now, or expect a court summons tomorrow.”

I looked toward the bus door. The shadowy figures inside were already pressed against the glass, silently urging me to get moving.

The number 29 glared at me from the dashboard like an omen. A patch of moisture seeped onto the steering wheel, as if a cold, wet hand had just been pressed there.

“…Get on the bus,” I said at last, my voice hoarse.

Jerry smirked, satisfied and motioned for his men to follow him.

The bald man jumped aboard first. He was about to curse and claim a seat when he suddenly sprang back up with a yelp.

“What the hell? Something’s pricking my ass!”

He grabbed at the seat cushion, but found only a cold metal plate. When he pulled his hand back, his fingertips were coated in a grayish-black powder—like burnt paper ash.

“What a useless idiot,” Jerry muttered, kicking him aside before dropping into the passenger seat. But the moment his hand touched the surface, he jerked it back.

“Why does this seat feel like an icebox?”

I started the engine. In the rearview mirror, the shadowy figures suddenly melted back into their seats, as if they had never moved.

Outside, the Bentley’s hood still gaped open in the early morning breeze, like a mouth left hanging.

At exactly thirty seconds past, the bus body shuddered lightly, as if someone had tapped the brakes.

I gripped the wheel tighter and checked the backseat in the mirror. Jerry was glued to his phone, the bald man was scratching himself and the silver-haired one stared blankly out the window.

None of them noticed the figure now sitting quietly in the back row—a man in a gray cotton jacket, his sleeves hanging loosely, his head slightly bowed as he watched them.

They didn’t see him. But I did. And I couldn’t risk my life with them on board. I made my decision instantly.

Just as the bus took the third corner, a sudden shriek came from the back.

“Jerry! This isn’t the way to your house!”

Jerry was still scrolling through his phone, but his head snapped up. Outside, the streets had changed—the streetlights were scattered and sparse, like gums missing teeth.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” He hurled his phone at the back of my head. “Daring to take a detour? Tired of living?”

I kept my hands tight on the wheel. This was the route the Master had strictly ordered me to follow—the mandatory route—said to avoid “unclean things.”

But in the mirror, Jerry was already storming toward me, his eyes bloodshot, fists pounding against my head.

“I told you not to turn! Did you hear me?”

Pain exploded in my forehead. Blood trickled down past my eyebrow, blurring my vision.

I clung to the wheel. Then he grabbed an empty wine bottle from the side and smashed it against my cheek.

Crack! Shards of glass mixed with blood filled my mouth. I spat, a tooth landing in my palm with the metallic tang of blood foam.

“Dare to resist?”

The bald man had pulled out a folding knife from somewhere. With a sharp snap, the blade locked into place, its cold edge pressing against my neck.

“Move again and I’ll bleed you dry.”

The sharp sting of the blade pressing into my skin made my whole body go rigid.

In the rearview mirror, I noticed something unsettling—the figures in the back of the bus had straightened up at some point. Their blurry outlines looked like paper dolls swaying in the wind, all of them facing the driver’s seat.

Gritting my teeth, I flipped on the turn signal and jerked the wheel, changing direction sharply. The tires screeched across the asphalt and from behind came a faint sigh—like autumn wind through dry leaves—carrying a chill that seeped straight into my bones.

Goosebumps prickled across my arms, but Jerry and his men burst into laughter.

“Why didn’t you do this earlier?” Jerry kicked the back of my seat. “At least you know when to give in.”

The alternate route was much smoother and soon, Jerry’s villa emerged from the shadows of the night.

As soon as the bus stopped, he strode down the steps with his henchmen, deliberately grinding his heel into the tooth I had dropped on the floor mat.

“You’re a complete failure.” He spat the words down at me. “The repair costs for the Bentley must be transferred to my account within three days—or you’ll be in jail.”

The bald man and the silver-haired one laughed, shoving each other as they made their way toward the villa’s entrance.

I watched their backs, anger burning hot in my chest—until, out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of the bus door.

Three faint gray shadows were silently following them.

They were paler than the night, like wet paper clinging to the backs of Jerry and his two men.

Jerry’s shadow was crooked, with a thin trail of gray mist drifting from the base of his neck.

The bald man’s shadow was missing one shoulder, as though something had gnawed it away.

The silver-haired man’s shadow was the most disturbing—a gray-black thread was wound tightly around his feet, pinning him in place like a specimen on a board.

The three of them were oblivious, still bragging about how they had “taught me a lesson.”

The villa’s lights drew closer, stretching their human shadows long and thin, while the three gray ones blended seamlessly into them—like stains that could never be washed away—following step by step into the warm glow.

I clenched my bloodstained tooth until my knuckles turned white. In the rearview mirror, the passengers had all returned to their seats, as though nothing had happened.

Only the fading chill of the knife at my neck and the sticky warmth of the tooth in my palm reminded me it hadn’t been my imagination.

The night wind blew through the open window, carrying with it the faint scent of burning paper.

As the villa door closed, I thought I heard a soft, satisfied sigh drift from one of the lit windows.

I slammed the bus door shut, trying to shut out the cold. But the sound from the back grew louder—a faint tap… tap… tap… against the seatback, slow and deliberate, like nails dragging on wood.

I didn’t dare turn around. My eyes stayed locked on the road ahead as I steered the bus back toward that familiar dark alley.

The dashboard clock read 4:07—thirteen minutes late.

In the rearview mirror, the blurred figures seemed to sit even straighter, their faces still indistinct.

As we neared the final stop, I spotted a figure under the dim streetlight.

My stomach dropped. This stop was always for people getting off, never for someone waiting—and certainly not at this hour.

When the bus came to a halt, I opened the door and was greeted by a wrinkled, sour face.

The man wore a faded old-style suit and clutched an enamel cup in his hand. As soon as I stepped off, he started shouting.

“You little brat, what’s wrong with you? Thirteen minutes late! Don’t you know the rules of this bus?”

My throat tightened. I was about to explain about Jerry, but his gaze shifted past me, peering into the bus compartment. His brows furrowed even deeper.

“Just now… how many old ones got off?”

“Old guys” was the driver’s term for those passengers.

I froze, thinking of the gray shadows trailing behind Jerry and his group and muttered, “I… I’m not sure, but it seemed like they followed.”

“Ah, never mind.” The driver waved a hand dismissively and tapped the enamel cup on the ground.

“If the sky falls, there’s always someone taller to hold it up. It’s not your concern.”

He bent down and picked something up from the carriage floor—it was my work ID, the one Jerry had crushed and crumpled. The plastic cover was cracked and the photo still showed the naïve expression I’d worn when I first started the job.

The driver brushed the dust away with his rough fingers, blew lightly on the edges, then raised the strap and placed the ID back around my neck.

The cold plastic pressed against my chest and his fingertips, calloused from years of gripping the steering wheel, accidentally brushed my skin.

“Remember to bring your work ID when you go to work.”

He looked at me, his eyes as deep and still as a pond.

“This thing is sometimes more important than your life.”

Without another word, he turned toward the carriage. Instead of taking the wheel, he stood in the middle of the aisle and called softly, “We’ve arrived at the station.”

Then he pulled a brass bell from his pocket—its surface polished smooth, faint patterns etched into the metal.

He shook it gently.

Dingling… dingling…

The crisp sound rang out like spring water trickling over stones, instantly drowning out the rustling noises inside the carriage.

Even the chill in the air seemed to ease, replaced by a strange calm that settled deep in the chest, as if something invisible had quietly washed over it.

I watched as the figures in the back row began to move. One by one, they slowly stood, their movements stiff but orderly and shuffled toward the door.

With each chime of the bell, their outlines became both clearer and hazier at the same time—like ink dissolving in water.

Suddenly, a sharp cry for help rang out from far away. It was broken, uneven and muffled, as though something were covering the mouth of the speaker.

“Help… help…”

The sound came from the direction of Jerry’s villa.

The driver paused in his ringing for just a moment, then continued at the same pace, his voice calm and detached.

“Did you hear that?”

The cries grew fainter, until they ended with a dull, muffled thud—then silence.

The wind in the alley picked up, colder now, swaying the streetlights and twisting the shadows on the ground.

The driver tucked the bell back into his robe, then patted my shoulder harder than usual.

“Remember, the rules of this ride aren’t set by humans.”

I watched as the figures stepped out of the bus, one by one and disappeared into the depths of the dark alley. Only then did the driver turn back to me and nod.

“Pack up. Let’s go.”

I stood there for a moment, staring toward Jerry’s villa. It was still pitch-black, no lights on anywhere.

The bloodstained tooth in my palm had gone cold, but the work ID hanging from my neck felt faintly warm—like it had absorbed some of the bell’s lingering heat.