Marvel adjusted his seatbelt and checked his watch. The flight from New York to London had been smooth so far—until the turbulence started.

The lights flickered. The plane trembled violently. A muffled announcement crackled through the speakers, but the captain’s voice was distorted, almost… wrong.

Marvel glanced at the man beside him—a pale-faced passenger gripping his armrest so tightly his knuckles turned white.

"Did you hear that?" Marvel asked.

The man didn’t respond. He just stared ahead, eyes wide with terror.

Marvel turned to the aisle. The flight attendants were frozen, their backs unnaturally stiff, their heads tilted slightly like broken dolls. Then, as if on cue, they all turned—at the same time.

Their eyes were pitch black.

Marvel’s breath caught in his throat. His stomach lurched as the plane jerked again. A woman across the aisle clutched her child, whispering prayers.

Then came the sound.

A low, guttural growl from the overhead compartments.

Marvel looked up just as the latch above him clicked open—slowly.

Something moved inside.

Something not human.

The lights went out. The screaming started.

And then, complete silence.

The next thing Marvel knew, he was sitting alone in the plane. The seats were empty. The flight attendants were gone. Even the pilots.

Outside the window, there was nothing but darkness. No city lights. No sky.

Just an endless, swirling void.

And a voice—whispering his name.