Aria sat frozen on her bed, the glow of her phone still burning against her palm. The words from the unknown number repeated in her head like a curse:
"Stop pretending you don't feel it too. You're mine, Aria. Always were."
Her breath came unevenly, shallow and quick, like she'd just run a race she didn't remember starting. She stared at the message, waiting for her mind to wake up and laugh it off, to tell her it was just some stupid prank.
But her chest told her otherwise.
Finally, with trembling fingers, she tapped the number. It wasn't saved in her contacts. She pressed block before she could lose her nerve.
The silence in her room deepened, heavy and thick.
Then—her phone buzzed again.
Aria's heart lurched. The screen lit up with a new number. Different digits. Same icy chill creeping down her spine. She swallowed and opened it.
"You can block me, but you'll never block what we are."
Her throat closed. She dropped the phone onto the bed as if the words might crawl out of the screen and sink into her skin.
Her gaze darted to her window, to the shadows stretching along the walls, to the closet door that suddenly felt too slightly ajar. She rubbed her arms, as if she could rub away the crawling sensation beneath her skin.
"No," she whispered to herself. "No, this is… this is just some idiot messing around."
She tried to convince herself, but the truth was harder to swallow than her fear. Whoever this was—Kael, a stranger, someone else—they knew her name. They knew her.
The night dragged on in heavy silence, but her nerves refused to calm. Every sound—creaking floorboards, the wind against the glass, her own heartbeat—was too loud, too sharp.
Then it came.
Knock. Knock.
Her entire body went still. The sound was soft but undeniable. At her front door.
Slowly, like moving through water, Aria stood. Her pulse thudded in her ears as she padded barefoot to the door, every step careful, hesitant. She pressed her eye against the peephole.
Nothing.
Her fingers hovered over the lock. Every instinct screamed don't open it. But silence pressed from the other side, suffocating, demanding.
She twisted the knob anyway.
The hallway was empty.
Her gaze flicked left, then right. Nothing moved, no shadows stirred. The air itself seemed to hold its breath. She was about to shut the door when her eyes dropped to the floor.
And there it was.
A single red feather, stark against the dull carpet.
Her stomach dropped.
She didn't touch it. Didn't move. Just stared, rooted in place, as if the feather itself carried the weight of an answer she wasn't ready to face.
Somewhere deep inside, Aria knew—this wasn't random. This was deliberate. This was meant for her.
And whoever left it wasn't finished.