The knock came just after midnight. Three short raps. One long pause. Then two more,I froze.Not because it was loud. It wasn’t. It was soft, like a whisper trying not to wake the dark. But it wasn’t the kind of knock people used when they forgot their keys or came bearing good news.

This knock had a memory in it. And memory had teeth.

I slipped out of bed, the silk of my robe clinging to my skin. My breath stayed behind, tangled in the sheets. The hallway stretched like a tunnel, shadows lengthened, and the old wooden floor creaked under my bare feet like it too wanted to scream. I didn’t ask who it was. I didn’t need to.I already knew.

He always knocked like that. But when I opened the door, it wasn’t Seth.It was an envelope.Just sitting there on the doormat like a dare.

No name. No stamp. Just red ink smeared across the back in the shape of a broken crescent.I picked it up with trembling fingers and closed the door behind me. My heart was thudding now, not like a drumbeat more like a countdown.

Inside, a photo.Me.

At the coffee shop this morning.Laughing.

And across the bottom, written in jagged, slanted letters

“You’re smiling like you’ve forgotten what I know” Seth.

It had to be him. No one else would use that ink. No one else would remind me of the secrets we swore to keep buried.But why now?He was the one who vanished.

He was the one who left me holding the weight of everything: the lies, the truths, the blood on our hands. I spent months trying to claw my way back to normal. And just when I could finally laugh again, even if it was brief… he came back like a ghost trying to reclaim the living.The air felt colder suddenly.I looked over my shoulder like someone was watching.No one.

Still, I locked every window. Drew every curtain. Bolted the front door twice.I didn’t sleep.

Instead, I stared at that photo all night at my smile, so unaware, so fragile and wondered how long he’d been watching me.And why.

By morning, I had more questions than peace.

I told myself I’d go to the police. But I knew I wouldn’t. Not yet. Not when so much of what tied us together could unravel everything I’ve rebuilt.

So I went to work. Painted on calm. Fake politeness. But the photo stayed tucked in my bag, burning like a secret against my side. That night, I found another envelope.

This time, no knock. Just a handprint. Smudged in ash across the mirror in my bathroom.

I don’t remember screaming. But my throat burned after.There was a note folded inside the medicine cabinet.

“You locked the doors. But you forgot the one inside you” I still live there.I fell to the floor.Because he wasn’t wrong.

Seth wasn’t just a memory.He was a wound that never fully closed.And now… he was back.Somewhere. Watching. Waiting.But for what?I didn’t know. Not yet.

But I had a feeling I was about to find out.

Because the last line on the note wasn’t a threat. It was a promise.

I’m closer than you think. And I never stopped wanting what’s mine.