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???A Different Kind of Hunger

Ember

I watched a man die yesterday.

Not metaphorically. Not emotionally.

Literally.

One moment he was across from me in a dark alleyway, sweating through his cheap blazer, whispering secrets like they weighed a thousand pounds.

The next, his head snapped back, a popping noise rang out. He gasped. Gurgled. And then… Gone. No one screamed but me. The cops ruled it a mugging. But I knew better.

I haven’t slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw his mouth opening to speak his final word. Not help. Not mercy.

A name.

But it never made it out.

Tonight, I should be home. Curled in a blanket with my laptop, telling myself it was time to walk away. But something dragged me out. Not grief. Not justice.

Curiosity.

Obsession.

The itch that started this podcast in the first place.

Tonight, it felt personal.

I ate dinner alone. Late. The restaurant’s half-empty, half-lit. The steak’s cold before I noticed it on the plate. I left most of it untouched.

On the way home, I took a different route. I didn’t know why. It wasn’t faster. Not safer. But it felt right.

Like something wanted me to see.

The streets grew quieter. The air thicker. Streetlights flickered as I passed beneath them, casting long shadows that bent wrong when I wasn’t looking.

Then I smelled it.

Iron. Burnt copper. Blood. I followed it. Because of course I did. Down an alley, across cracked pavement, behind a rusted fence barely clinging to its hinges.

And there, I saw him. Or what’s left. A body, suspended upside down. Split wide. Ribs splayed like wings. Organs turned into art. And at the heart of the blood pooling beneath him, something gleamed, sharp, and catching the moonlight like it had a secret to tell.

A scale.

I covered my mouth, but the scream didn't come. Just the sharp, frozen inhale of someone who’d seen too much and not enough.

This wasn’t just murder. This was a ritual. Judgment. Performance. This was the same killer. The one no one believed in. The one I’d been circling around like a moth with a death wish.

Or was it?

I stepped forward, heart pounding so loud it made the silence scream. And then I felt it. Someone’s watching me.

My breath hitched.

I turned slowly, but the alley was empty. Nothing moved. No one spoke. But the pressure remained, thick, electric, predatory.

I wasn’t alone. Not really. I didn’t see anyone. But I knew someone was there.

I backed away slowly, blood soaking into my boots, eyes scanning every shadow for the shape of something that didn’t belong.

But I never found it. They were already gone. Or maybe they never moved at all.

By the time I made it home, I was shaking. I shut the door. Locked it. Bolted it. But the feeling never left me.

Whoever it was let me see that. They wanted me to. And now I wasn’t a spectator anymore. Now I was in it. And I didn’t know if I was hunting them…

Or being led.