The sound of the rain falling was getting heavier, hitting the broken glass door, making the pieces of glass tremble. In the darkness, Khoi stood still, his hand gripping the gun tightly as if it could help him distinguish between what was real and what was an illusion.

The photo was still in his hand. It was cold and damp as if someone had just put it down not long ago.

The weak flash-light beamed to the left — a hallway leading deep into the house, where a wooden door carved with a phoenix was half-closed. That room... had once been the study of his grandfather, Mr. Nghia — the man the whole family had feared, the man who had died suddenly in this very house.

Khoi stepped closer. His hand trembled a little when he touched the doorknob. It was cold, as if it had just been touched by another hand. The door opened, making a dry "creak" sound like a sigh that had been suppressed for many years.

Inside, the room was the same as before. Rosewood table, tall bookcases full of old leather-bound books, a tarnished brass table lamp... and an armchair facing the window, behind which a red velvet curtain was half drawn.

On the table was a cup of tea, dry and dusty, but still showing signs of life — or at least presence. A page was torn from a book, lying face down in the middle of the table:

"The best killers never leave a body."

Khoi felt a chill on the back of his neck. He walked towards the window. The red curtain swayed slightly despite the lack of wind.

Suddenly the armchair turned slightly. There was a creaking sound as if someone had just stood up.

He rushed forward and lifted the curtain.

No one.

Just space. And below, on the rotten carpet, were wet mud prints — human footprints, very clear, as if they had just walked across them.

Not his.

It couldn't be.

Khoi gasped, turning around as quickly as a reflex. But the room was empty. The door was still open. The rain was still falling outside. The wall clock struck four times — midnight.

Then, as if by a reminder, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

A text message. No number.

"4:15 AM. Binh Hung Cemetery. If you want to know the truth."

Khoi looked at the clock. 4:00.

Fifteen more minutes.