Page 97 of Psycho Pack

Like I'm not even here.

I'm not invisible to anyone else.

The other passengers stare as I pass.

Eyes widen, faces wary beneath veils and scarves.

An old man makes a warding gesture.

Clutches beads at his neck.

They are all whispering.

About me.

About us.

Strangers.

Strangers.

Strangers.

Keep my head down.

Keep moving.

Keep following Plague.

Gold and white walls and plush carpets mock me.

Everything here is so pristine.

So perfect.

I am a stain on their purity.

I do not belong here.

My gaze darts around, mapping exits.

Cataloging threats.

But we are surrounded.

Nothing is safe.

This beauty hides danger.

Has to.

Nothing this perfect comes without a price.

A flash of white catches my eye.

A scarf, abandoned on an empty seat.

Without thinking, I snatch it up.

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