Three days had passed since he’d been fired.

  Adam spent most of his time firing off resumes, calling numbers scribbled in haste, and filling out online forms that promised "quick responses" that never came. It wasn't new—he’d been through the job hunt before—but now, every hour felt heavy with urgency. He hated to admit it, but he actually missed the factory job he used to complain about.

  That morning, however, there was a spark of hope.

  An interview.

  He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, adjusting his collar. The shirt wasn't new, but it was clean and pressed. His hair was neat, his beard trimmed to a sharp edge. He took a deep breath, trying to force his posture into something resembling confidence.

  His head was a mess of bills, wasted years at the plant, and the feeling that his life was a house of cards collapsing in slow motion. The factory had been a burden, but it had provided the one thing he lacked now.

  Stability. A routine. The hollow comfort of a paycheck.

  Adam grabbed his keys, checked his phone, and headed out.

  The interview was at a bistro-style café downtown. It was a busy, well-lit place with large windows and a steady hum of people. It looked like a decent place to work. At least, on the surface.

  He walked in five minutes early.

  The smell of roasted beans and warm pastries filled the air. Soft chatter mingled with the clink of silverware. A man in his forties greeted him from behind the counter and asked him to wait. A moment later, he led Adam to a booth in the back.

  The interview was standard. Experience? Availability? Can you handle a rush? Adam answered on autopilot, projecting an interest he didn't truly feel.

  “It’s a server position,” the manager explained. “High volume, lots of face-time with the regulars. You have to stay sharp.”

  Adam nodded, his eyes drifting across the room as the man spoke.

  And then, he saw her.

  Alice Hana Clark. She walked in laughing—that easy, effortless laugh that Adam used to know by heart. She was his ex, the one who had walked away years ago, leaving him with a thousand questions he never had the courage to ask.

  He still loved her. He was the guy who checked her Instagram in the middle of the night, staring at her photos until the blue light burned his eyes. He’d always held onto the pathetic hope that she’d come back.

  Alice wasn't alone. She was holding someone’s hand.

  Dylan Conner. Adam recognized him from the photos.

  Her laugh was free. Genuine. They took a table by the window, sitting close—intimately close. Dylan said something, and Alice leaned her shoulder against his, a natural, comfortable gesture that twisted the knife in Adam’s gut.

  Adam froze. He looked away, but the damage was done. That familiar, suffocating tightness returned to his chest.

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  “Is everything okay?” the manager asked, noticing the lapse.

  “Yes,” Adam snapped, his voice too sharp. “Just… one question.”

  The manager raised an eyebrow.

  Adam gestured subtly toward the window. “That couple… do they come here often?”

  The manager looked over and smiled. “Oh, yeah. All the time. Actually, they had their first date right at that table. They’re our favorite regulars.”

  Adam swallowed a lump of lead.

  “Don’t worry about them,” the manager continued, oblivious. “Those two lovebirds are easy. They get their coffee, stay in their own world for an hour, and leave happy. Real sweethearts.”

  Adam pictured it: serving them coffee. Refilling their water. Passing that table ten times a shift while they whispered and laughed and lived the life he’d been robbed of. Being a server meant being a ghost in someone else’s movie.

  He took a deep breath and stood up slowly.

  “Look…” he began. “I appreciate the time. I really do. But I don't think I’m the right fit for this place.”

  The manager blinked, confused. “What? Why? Your profile is exactly what we’re looking for.”

  “I just remembered… I have another offer. A better one. My bad.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah,” Adam said, his voice hardening. “I’m sure. Thanks anyway.”

  He didn't wait for a reply. He walked out with a heart like a stone, the realization hitting him that he had lost more than just a job opportunity. He’d lost the ability to pretend he was fine.

  Outside, the city noise felt like a dull roar. For the first time, reality didn't just feel difficult. It felt cruel.

  Adam got into his car and slammed the door. He sat there, gripping the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. The car felt like a coffin.

  The image of her laughing wouldn't fade. The way she leaned into Dylan. The ease of it. As if Adam had never existed.

  “Dammit!” he hissed.

  He punched the steering wheel. Once. Twice. The dull thud echoed in the cramped space.

  “Why does this still matter?” he yelled, his voice cracking. “It’s over! It’s over!”

  But his heart wasn't listening to logic. Rage—hot, violent, and sudden—surged through him. It was better than the emptiness. It gave him something to hold onto.

  “Dammit, Alice! I tried!” he screamed at the windshield. “I really tried!”

  He twisted the key and tore out of the parking lot. He drove like a man possessed, flooring the gas, wanting to outrun his own mind. The streets blurred. He ignored the lights, the honking cars, the world outside. He just needed to go faster.

  He wanted the pain to end.

  Then, a sickening clunk vibrated through the floorboards.

  The car shuddered. The steering went limp. The engine let out a pathetic wheeze as the tachometer dropped to zero.

  “No. No, no, no,” he whispered.

  He managed to coast the dying vehicle onto the shoulder. He tried the ignition again. Click. Click. Nothing.

  Adam leaned his forehead against the wheel and let out a dry, jagged laugh.

  “Of course,” he whispered to the dashboard. “Of course, right now.”

  The rage vanished, replaced by a cold, numbing clarity. He sat there for a long time, watching the hazard lights blink against the gray sky. He called a tow truck, then an Uber. The ride home was a funeral procession in a Toyota Camry. Adam stared out the window, his jaw set so tight it ached.

  When he got home, he slammed his front door hard enough to rattle the frames on the walls. He tossed his keys, dropped his jacket on the floor, and paced the living room like a caged animal.

  “Perfect,” he spat. “Just… simply perfect.”

  He collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the floor. The broken car. The lost job. Alice. The universe wasn't just indifferent; it was actively trying to crush him.

  He looked up at the empty air.

  “If you’re listening…” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “Show yourself.”

  Silence.

  “You said you could change everything!” he shouted, standing up. “Well, here I am! Show yourself!”

  He laughed bitterly and turned toward the hallway. “Forget it. I’m losing my mind.”

  Then, the light flickered.

  Once. Twice.

  Adam froze. The bulbs began to fail in a rhythmic sequence, plunging the room into a thick, artificial twilight. The air turned ice-cold.

  Two points of light sparked in the corner. Watching.

  “The cry of a lost soul,” the voice purred, vibrating through the floorboards. “How I love that sound.”

  Adam didn't flinch this time. “You said you could help me.”

  The lights strobed in sync with the voice. “Look at this… I leave for a few days, and here you are, begging.”

  “Stop with the games,” Adam said, his voice steady. “I don’t have the patience left to be afraid of you.”

  The eyes glowed brighter. “Ah… anger. Much better. Fear is a garnish, but anger… anger is the main course.”

  “You said you could change it all,” Adam stepped forward. “I don't want to hear another word. I just… I can’t do this anymore.”

  The entity seemed to expand, filling the room with a heavy, suffocating presence. “Funny. Before, you were so certain. Now you’re pleading.”

  Adam clenched his fists. “I changed my mind.”

  “Of course you did,” the entity replied, dripping with satisfaction. “They always do once they realize that reality has no mercy.”

  Adam looked directly into the glow. “I want a world where I have a better life. I want out.”

  The silence lasted only a heartbeat. Then, the entity smiled—a sensation of warmth that felt like a lie.

  “Very well, Adam,” it whispered. “Now… we’re finally speaking the same language.”

  “What do I have to do?”

  “Nothing. You’ve already done the hard part. You surrendered.”

  The lights began to flicker violently, a blinding white strobe that tore through the shadows. Adam stared into the eyes, a final, flickering doubt crossing his mind.

  “How did you know?” he asked. “How did you know I’d break?”

  The entity let out a soft, dark chuckle. “Oh, Adam… I can smell a soul with no place to land. I’m not the villain here. I’m the exit.”

  The flickering intensified. The world began to tilt.

  Adam felt the floor vanish beneath his boots. He was falling—not down, but out. The walls of his apartment dissolved into a pitch-black void. The sounds of the city, the smell of his home, the weight of his grief—it all began to evaporate as he plunged into the dark.