One stands alone. A point, a beginning—or is it the end? It doesn’t matter. It waits. Always. One. An echo in the dark, a shape without form. You see it, don’t you? No, you don’t. You only think you do. One step forward, and the shadow grows longer. One second too late, and the breath behind you vanishes. One door, always closed. One number, always watching. One is never alone.
