The sky was bruised with purple and grey by the time Amara reached her gate. The walk home had been too quiet. The usual chatter of street vendors had faded by the time she crossed the third intersection, and the bakery on the corner had already gone dark.
She tugged her coat tighter, her mind still reeling from the text Talbot had sent hours earlier.
"Can we meet now?"
She couldn't respond.
There were too many questions, too many voices in her head—Talbot's, the man at the café, the echo of her own confusion whispering louder than reason. Canceling the meeting had felt like the only thing she could control.
The gate to her apartment clicked shut behind her, and for the first time that day, she exhaled.
She was home safe.
She kicked off her shoes at the door, letting them land messily in the dim hallway. The apartment was silent—too silent. No TV hum, no music, not even the comfort of distant voices through the walls. Just the hush of a home that hadn't been lived in enough.
She flicked on the light, but the hallway bulb buzzed before settling into a weak glow. The shadows clung to the corners. Everything was just as she'd left it… yet something felt off.
She dropped her bag on the couch and went straight to the kitchen, trying to shake the feeling. A drink of water. That was all. Her hands moved on autopilot, but her eyes kept darting to the hallway. The stillness pressed against her like a hand to the chest.
Then her phone lit up from where she'd placed it on the couch.
One new message.
Unknown Number.
No text just a picture.
Her throat tightened as she picked it up.
It was her.
In the picture, she stood right at her own front door.
Taken from behind.
Timestamp: 3 minutes ago.
Her breath caught.
She hadn't seen anyone on her way in. She hadn't heard a sound. But someone had been there—close enough to take that photo. Close enough to send it just moments later.
The phone slipped slightly in her hand, her fingers trembling.
She turned slowly, scanning the living room, then moved toward the window, pulling back the curtain
in one quick jerk.
Nothing.