I don’t know what startled me first, the cold spot in the room or the realization that I hadn’t blinked in nearly a minute. The morning had come like a thief, stealing sleep and replacing it with that familiar ache behind my eyes. I hadn’t told Liam about the second envelope. Or the smudge on the mirror. Or how I now kept a kitchen knife beneath my pillow like some twisted bedtime ritual. Not because I didn’t trust him.

But because I didn’t trust myself to need him this much. I’d spent too long trying to convince the world and myself that I was okay. That what happened with Seth didn’t still live in my bones. But fear has a strange shape. It doesn’t scream. It waits. It becomes the shadow you stop noticing. The voice you learn to ignore. And sometimes, it wears the face of a man who once told you he loved you.

I needed out. Just for a while. I needed air that didn’t smell like fear So I drove. Nowhere important. Just movement. Asphalt and sky and the quiet hum of tires beneath me. For a few miles, I let myself believe I was moving forward. Maybe if I drove far enough, fast enough, the ache wouldn’t catch up. But then I saw it.

The same black sedan. The same cracked bumper. The same dent on the passenger side I hadn’t noticed until now. It had been behind me for miles. Unmoving. Quiet. Like it didn’t want to be noticed. Like it didn’t have to be. I took the next exit. So did they. I changed lanes. They stayed behind.

When I pulled into the gas station, I didn’t park by the pumps. I parked directly under the overhead lights, right beside the windowed storefront, in full view of the cashier inside. And still, the car didn’t move.

I sat behind the wheel for five minutes, then ten, my fingers trembling just enough to make me hate myself. I reached for my phone but didn’t dial. Who would I call? Liam? The police? Seth? No.

I waited. Finally, the car pulled away. Slowly. Like whoever was inside wanted me to see it go. Like it wasn’t finished, just done for now.

By the time I got home, my bones were tight with exhaustion. Not the kind sleep could fix. The kind that comes from looking over your shoulder too many times and still not knowing what you’re looking for. I locked the doors. Windows. Bolted the latch. Pulled the curtains. And still something felt off.

The living room looked normal. Shoes by the door. My coat still draped over the arm of the couch. A half-empty cup of tea is still sitting on the coffee table from last night. But something in the air felt thinner. More fragile.Like the walls themselves had started listening.My phone buzzed, Blocked number. I stared at it, heartbeat thick in my throat. I answered anyway.

At first silence. Then static. A crackle. The sound of wind. And just when I thought it was over, a voice came through. Not loud, Not rushed. Just calm. Familiar. The voice I used to fall asleep to before it became a nightmare.

Eva.One word. My name. But not the way Liam says it. Not the way people who love you say it, The way someone says it when they believe it belongs to them. I didn’t respond. I couldn’t, I hung up.

Tossed the phone onto the couch like it burned me. And for the first time in weeks, I let myself cry. Not because I was weak. But because I was angry. Angry that he still had access to me. Angry that no matter how far I ran, Seth kept finding the trail.

I wiped my eyes. Sat down. I tried to calm my breath. The lights flickered once.

Then again., Then I went out, I didn’t move., Not because I couldn’t. But because I wasn’t alone.Not anymore.