Elena Rivers
Elena didn't leave her apartment the next day.
She told herself it was because of the rain—steady, cold, relentless—but she knew it was fear. Not of Damien showing up. No.
It was worse than that.
She was afraid he wouldn't.
The quiet between her thoughts had grown too loud. Every floorboard creak, every shift of wind against the windows, made her flinch. She tried playing music, keeping the lights on, moving from room to room just to feel time passing. But nothing worked. The silence kept pressing inward like a noose made of air.
Then came the knock.
Three soft, measured taps.
She froze. No one ever knocked. Not here. Not without warning.
She approached the door slowly, barefoot, her breath shallow.
There was no one outside when she opened it.
But a single object lay on her doormat: a white envelope. No name.
Inside was a photo.
Of her. Asleep. Last night.
Elena's heart slammed into her ribs so hard it hurt. The angle—the photo was taken from inside her apartment.
She staggered back, the photo slipping from her fingers.
She wanted to run. To scream.
But all she did was laugh. Just once.
It sounded broken.
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