Amara awoke on the city streets at dawn. The streets looked normal. Cars honked, people hurried to work, the city breathed as it always had.
She checked her phone. No messages. No warnings.
Yet when she glanced at a nearby reflective window, her own reflection lingered too long, eyes darker than they should have been. A faint whisper tickled her ear:
"You never really leave…"
Amara shivered. She walked away, refusing to look back. But the memory of the taxi, the faceless passenger, and the shadows haunted her every step.
Some nights, when the streets are empty and the city sleeps, she swears she hears the rattling of a yellow taxi in the distance… waiting.
The horror may have ended for now—but it waits for the next passenger.