two

I could not wait for dawn.

My stomach made the decision for me.

Lucy’s cottage stood deep in the woods by the sea. Holding my stomach, I ran toward it. The stone‑paved path looked different at night from in daylight. Purple‑glowing flowers lined the way, like eyes peeking in secret.

I stood before the wooden cottage.

The door opened on its own.

Lucy sat at her desk, flipping elegantly through an aged yellowed book.

“You’re here,” she said without looking up. “Slower than I expected.”

Holding my stomach, I whispered, “Does Ron’s heart count?”

“The heart of a wicked man,” she nodded. “It does.”

“Then my condition…”

“It is not an illness.”

She finally closed the book, raised her gaze to me, and pointed at the jars of various potions on the shelf.

“These are medicines. What you have been drinking is actually plant sap.”

Her amber eyes watched me quietly, like a cat’s.

“What I have always wanted to tell you is that this is instinct. This is an interesting body, and you are finally starting to use it.”

My stomach rumbled.

Lucy smiled.

“Hungry again?”

I said nothing.

“Second,” she lifted the teacup on the table. “The kidney of a sinner.”

“How do I find it?”

She pointed to my stomach.

“It knows.”

I turned and left.

“Mara,” she called after me.

I hesitated and glanced back at her.

“Remember the order,” her voice was soft. “Heart, kidney, liver, spleen, stomach. Do not mess it up. If you do…”

I waited for her to finish.

She only smiled, then pointed once more to my stomach.

“It will know.”

I stepped out of the cottage and walked back along the stone path. The purple fluorescence behind me faded slowly, like some old life I had left behind.

When I pushed open the apartment door, dawn had not broken yet.

Ron’s slippers still lay by the entrance.

I stared at them for a long time.

Then I threw them into the trash can.

I did not turn on the living‑room light. Instead, I sat down on the sofa and pulled a flickering phone from my close‑fitting pocket. I had taken it from Ron’s trousers in the seaside warehouse half an hour earlier. Blood smudges from my fingertips marked the screen, and I unlocked the call log easily. Ron must have thought his foolish merchandise would never get hold of his secrets, so he had set no password.

I scrolled through the call history. Over the past month, the same number had appeared seventeen times. Its only note was a single character: Jin.

I did not rush to call.

First, I sent a text to that number: There is a problem with the goods. Need to talk face‑to‑face. Old place.

I had no idea where the “old place” was. But I knew if this was Ron’s regular client, they must have a fixed trading spot.

Three minutes later, a reply arrived: Ten p.m. tomorrow night. Warehouse No.3 at the old dock. No tricks.

Warehouse No.3 at the old dock.

It was exactly where I had killed Ron.

I tossed the phone into my bag and leaned back on the sofa. My stomach fell quiet. It was waiting.

At half past nine the next night, I arrived at the warehouse.

The warehouse was clean. No blood, no body. I had cleaned the scene the night before and buried Ron’s corpse in the sand.

I stood in the shadows, stroking the blue veins on my right wrist.

At ten sharp, the door opened.

A man walked in. In his sixties, he wore a white coat, had gray hair, and gold‑rimmed glasses. He looked like a retired medical professor, nothing like a killer.

No one followed him. Perhaps he did not want too many people to know about this deal.

He spotted me and stopped.

“You are not Ron.”

“Ron is tied up,” I said. “I have the goods.”

“The goods?” He narrowed his eyes. “Do you even know what the goods are?”

“A heart,” I said. “Perfect match.”

He fell silent for several seconds, then laughed.

“That useless Ron could not even keep a woman under control.”

He walked toward me, his polished leather shoes thudding dully against the concrete floor.

“Do you know how long I have waited for this heart? Three years. In three years, he found eight…” He paused. “None worked.”

“The ninth,” I said, “is me.”

He stopped and studied me carefully.

“You do not look like someone who is dying.”

“What do I look like?”

“Like…” He frowned. “The strangest prey I have ever seen.”

My stomach rumbled.

Not hunger. Confirmation.

It was him.

“Have you ever heard of a sickness?” I asked. “One where you cannot stop craving human flesh late at night.”

He said nothing.

“Doctors call it delusion. Witches call it instinct.”

I took a step forward.

“I think now they are both right.”

His hand moved toward the inside of his overcoat.

My right hand was faster.

I slammed my fist into his wrist. The gun clattered to the ground. Before he could scream, I pinned him against the wall.

“You wanted my heart,” I whispered close to his ear. “Do you know what I want?”

He gasped, his eyes wide open.

“Your kidney.”

I wasted no time.

Removing a kidney was more complicated than taking a heart. I had studied anatomy books thoroughly after killing Ron. I knew where the kidney was and how to remove it whole.

My fingertips sliced neatly through the skin, peeled away the thin fascia, pinched the renal artery and vein with my left hand, and gently pulled the kidney whole from the tissue around his lower back.

“What a lovely little thing.”

He passed out, probably from pain or terror.

My stomach roared with hunger. I soothed it softly with my left hand, held the ten‑centimeter‑long “banana” in my right hand, and bit down.

Whether from changes inside my stomach or something else — everything tasted sweet to me now.

I stood up and looked at his curled‑up body on the ground.

He was still alive.

My stomach rumbled again.

Heart.

No.

Lucy had said I must not mess up the order.

I closed my eyes and waited for the urge to fade.

Then I knelt down and pulled a phone from his coat pocket. There was only one number in his contacts.

I put the phone back in his pocket.

“When you can stand,” I said, “tell your friend he is welcome to play this game with me.”

I walked out of the warehouse.

Sea wind swept over, carrying a salty stench.

Ron’s phone rang.

I pulled it out.

A new message popped up on the screen, from the number marked Jin:

“He told you about the first eight. But he never told you where all their hearts went.”

I stared at the screen, held my stomach, and walked away slowly. A smile tugged at my blood‑stained lips.

“Great… more stock to hunt.”