Meanwhile, as the house settled into stillness, the door to their room creaked open, a thin sliver of light spilling into the darkness from the hallway. The faint sound of footsteps accompanied the soft hum of night.

“They’re asleep,” Mr. Aaron murmured to himself, his voice barely a whisper. His eyes scanned the room briefly, lingering on the two resting figures. With careful precision, he reached for the light switch, flicking it off. The room was bathed in shadow, save for the faint silver glow of the first quarter moon slipping through the edges of the curtains.

Satisfied, he closed the door gently, the soft click of the latch blending into the night. Outside, the air carried a quiet stillness, but his expression bore a trace of unease as he retreated down the hallway, leaving their two visitors undisturbed in their slumber.

From the hallway before the stairs, the pendulum clock chimed softly, its mellow tone cutting through the silence. The time—just past eleven in the evening—seemed to stretch endlessly in the stillness.

Mr. Aaron descended the stairs, his steps deliberate, each one a muted shuffle as his slippers grazed the cool floorboards. His brow furrowed, weighed down by the events of the day. Chief among them was the peculiar letter that had arrived that morning. It carried no sender's name, only a stark warning embedded in its strange composition: a single red rose petal seeming to spell out an ominous message.

Mr. Aaron, steeped in superstition, couldn’t shrug it off as mere folly. His upbringing in a household bound by such beliefs had etched these fears deep within him—tales of cursed letters, ominous signs, and vengeful spirits echoed in his mind. Fear and tradition held him hostage, compelling him to act.

In the dim glow of the living room, his hand quivered as he reached for the rosary resting on the modest altar. Lowering himself to his knees, he murmured a prayer, each bead slipping between his fingers with a soft click. Yet, unease gnawed at him. Was this enough? Should he burn the letter, bury it, or pass it on to free their family from its shadow?

The last thought sent a chill coursing through him. What if passing it on doomed someone else?

The clock's soft ticking filled the stillness of the house, each sound magnifying the silence. Shadows danced across the walls, their restless movements feeding his unease. His gaze lingered on them, but the decision came swiftly—he dared not risk ignoring the signs.

At dawn, he resolved, he would make his way to the church and consult the parish priest. Perhaps a blessing or a novena might banish the unseen forces pressing upon him.

For now, he gripped the rosary as if its beads held the power to ward off the lurking dread, his knuckles whitening with the force of his fear.

࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“Morning!” Raine’s voice brimmed with cheer as she stood over Zane, catching him just as his eyes fluttered open. His chest tightened for a moment, startled by her sudden presence.

“How was the sleep?” she asked, grinning.

“You startled me again,” Zane muttered, rubbing his temples.

“Well, you’re the one who insisted we reach the funeral home early,” Raine quipped. “The Suarezes might turn up, and since we’ll be passing that little café nearby, we can grab breakfast there.”

Her tone shifted to a brisk determination. “We’re leaving Sitio Santa Clara this morning, so we’d better wrap up the investigation by then. Get a move on, sleepyhead. Miss Magallanes is bound to arrive any moment with her driver. City-bound, at last. I don’t care if she takes the wheel herself or not—she owes us that much for dumping us here in the first place.”

“Wow, it’s almost like nothing happened last night,” Zane remarked dryly, pushing himself up from the bed.

“Figured it might lighten the mood,” Raine replied. “You just attended a funeral the day before, and the deceased was once your patient. You need to snap out of it.”

“Humour doesn’t quite suit you,” Zane retorted, heading for the door. He reached for the handle, but Raine stepped in his way.

“Zane,” she began.

“Oh, why not stick with your usual ‘Mr. Nuñez’?” Zane muttered, his voice barely above a whisper as he tried to sidestep her, but she blocked him again.

“Thanks for being there, for comforting me last night,” Raine continued. “It’s just… it was all new to me, seeing whatever that creature was.”

“Funny how karma works, isn’t it?” Zane remarked, his voice tinged with irony as he swung open the door. “You mocked my superstitions, and now you're the one dealing with it.” He stepped into the hall. “Excuse me, I’m heading to the canteen before the family nags us for breakfast again.”

Raine hurried to catch up, grabbing his arm and pulling him to face her.

“Listen,” she said, her tone softer now. “I’m not used to these things, and that’s why I didn’t believe it at first.”

“And now the proof’s right in front of you,” Zane replied flatly. With that, he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there.

In the kitchen beside the staircase, Mrs. Betty stood over the stove, frying eggs. In the living room, Mr. Aaron lay asleep on the long sofa, his back to the television.

“We’ll be heading out for a bit. Thanks again for letting us stay the night,” Zane called to her.

“Wait, I’m still making breakfast,” she replied.

“No, it’s fine, Mrs. Suarez. We’re eating out. You've already been more than generous—” Raine began.

“No, no! You can’t leave on an empty stomach,” Mrs. Betty insisted, shutting off the gas and plating the ten hotdogs she had cooked. “It’s an order, Mr. Zane and Ms. Raine. Besides, Aaron wouldn’t want his guests leaving hungry, either.”

The two stood frozen for a moment as Vincent passed by. He paused in front of them, flashing a bright smile. “Good morning, Ms. Raine, Mr. Zane,” he greeted cheerfully.

“Good morning,” they both responded.

“Vincent, please guide our lovely guests to their seats. After that, could you wake your father? We’ll be leaving soon,” Mrs. Betty said as she placed the plates of rice and fried lumpia on the table.

“Come on, ma’am, sir. Let’s eat,” Vincent said, gently taking their hands and guiding them to the table.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Suarez,” Zane said gratefully.

Vincent moved towards his father, gently shaking him awake. “Good morning, Papa,” he said. “We’re having breakfast now.”

“Good morning, Vincent. I can't believe I slept so deeply,” Mr. Aaron muttered as he stretched and pushed himself off the sofa, heading toward the kitchen.

“Good morning, sir,” Raine greeted.

“Good morning,” Mr. Aaron replied, his gaze lingering briefly. “How was your night here?”

“Lovely,” Zane answered.

“Let’s eat! We’ll be heading to the wake later, and we don’t want to be late, that’s for sure,” Mr. Aaron said as he took his seat.

“Speaking of the wake, are you two staying another night? We’ll need to lock up the house,” Mrs. Betty added, settling between Raine and Vincent.

“We’ll be coming with you,” Raine replied.

“We’ll catch a ride on one of the neighbours’ jeepneys. Would you care to join us?” Mrs. Betty asked.

“We have a ride, ma’am,” Raine replied.

Mr. Aaron took the serving spoon and began dishing out rice, followed by Mrs. Betty, who served their child and herself. Raine then took Zane’s plate and began adding rice.

“What—?” Zane started to protest.

Raine deliberately tapped the spoon to shake off the excess rice, then picked up his plate, placing two pieces of lumpiang shanghai on it. She walked over to Zane and offered it to him.

“What’s… this?” Zane asked, his brow furrowing.

“I’m serving you your food,” Raine answered matter-of-factly.

“You’ve never served anyone before,” Zane pointed out.

“Now I just did. I did it to save time,” Raine replied.

“Thank you, then,” Zane said, his tone hinting at a quiet bemusement as he processed the odd moment.

“Sorry for what I said last night,” Raine whispered, her gaze shifting away, a look of guilt flickering on her face. Zane softened and took the plate from her.

“It’s fine. I’m used to that kind of thing,” he said, offering a reassuring smile.

Raine smiled back, her expression brightening as Zane took a spoonful of rice, followed by a bite of lumpia, which he speared with his fork. His face twisted in distaste.

“I’m not really a fan of lumpia,” he muttered.

Raine’s hurt expression returned as she looked away again, this time serving herself only a small portion of egg and rice. She resembled a little girl who had just been scolded by her father for using his prized phone. Zane noticed her reaction and, feeling a twinge of guilt, reluctantly took another bite of the lumpia.

“Finish your breakfast, Vincent. We’re in a hurry,” Mrs. Betty reminded, her voice cutting through the silence that had settled between the two.

Zane grimaced at the taste, setting down his spoon and fork after finishing the last lumpia. He looked at Raine, a change in his expression.

“You know what? This is actually really good,” he said, surprising himself with the words.

Raine’s thoughtful smile flickered, rare and genuine. “See? You must be missing your provincial home,” she said softly. “Now, eat up.”

“Raine,” Mrs. Betty called, drawing Raine’s attention. “I noticed you don’t have any clothes to change into. You’re welcome to borrow something of mine if you’d like.”

“No, thank you, Mrs. Suarez. That’s very thoughtful, but we’ll be heading home first before going straight to the funeral,” Raine replied with a polite smile.

“Just don’t hesitate to ask if you need anything for the road,” Mrs. Betty insisted.

After finishing their hearty breakfast, the group took a moment to pack up their belongings. Not long after, the sound of a car horn from outside caught their attention.

“She’s here,” Raine said, heading out of the guest room with the others.

“You two are leaving now?” Mr. Aaron asked, his voice muffled as he combed his hair, his eyes meeting their reflections in the living room mirror.

“Yes, sir,” Zane replied.

The two made their way to the main door, where a taxi awaited. Eteri was peering out from the passenger seat, a warm smile on her face.

“Did you bring it?” Raine asked.

“Of course,” Eteri answered, opening the car door and handing Raine a gift bag.

“Give that to the Suarezes. It’s a small token of appreciation for their kindness,” Raine said, passing the bag to Zane.

The two returned to the house and handed it to Mr. Aaron. “Thank you very much for everything,” Zane said sincerely.

“It was no trouble at all,” Mr. Aaron replied with a nod.

“Are you sure you don’t want some more lumpia for the ride? I’ve got some here, and I’m worried we won’t finish them all by midnight now that it’s just the three of us,” Mrs. Betty said, holding a small white plastic bag containing a lunchbox of her cooking.

“Thank you, Mrs. Betty,” Raine replied as she accepted the bag.

Vincent approached and hugged them both one by one. “I hope I’ll see you again soon, Mr. Zane, Ms. Raine,” he said in a somewhat melancholic tone.

“We will, Vincent,” Raine said, gently tapping his back as he hugged her tightly. “We will.”

It was time to leave. They climbed into the taxi, with Raine sitting next to Eteri and Zane beside the driver. The three waved as the vehicle slowly pulled away, heading toward their next destination.

It didn’t take long before the family, still in a rush, returned inside their house. “Kindly stop here!” Raine commanded, and the taxi came to a halt in front of the house she had visited the previous night. As she stepped out, she was greeted by a fifty-year-old lady, dressed in white, a smile spread across her face.

“May I help you?” the woman asked, already prepared for their departure to the funeral.

“Oh, yes, Ma’am,” Raine replied, climbing the small uphill slope towards the front yard. “I just wanted to ask if there are any large birds living around here. Are there?”

The old woman stepped closer, tapping Raine on the shoulder. “You’re new to this village, aren’t you, my dear?” she asked, to which Raine nodded. “It must be the thing you saw. Just ignore it. Stop thinking about it. It’ll pass in time.”

“Raine, come on now!” Eteri called from the taxi. “Time’s ticking, remember?”

Raine turned and headed back to the taxi, leaving the lady behind. “Who was that?” a young, beautiful woman asked, her voice curious. It was Ms. Mercado, unaware of her two colleagues' recent encounter.

“The beasts might have been awakened again. We must be very careful,” the old woman said, her gaze fixed on the taxi as it slowly disappeared down the long road.