The day had been unbearably still, the kind of silence that presses against your ears and seeps into your chest. I kept checking the locks on my doors, fumbling with the chain latch, double-checking the windows. Every shadow in my apartment seemed to stretch toward me, long and hungry, and the envelope Mara had returned to me still burned against my ribcage like a warning I couldn't ignore.
I thought the morning had been enough. That by noon, sunlight would chase the shadows away. I was wrong.
The knock came just as the clock struck three.
Soft. Slow. Deliberate.
I froze, my fingers stilling on the cup of cold coffee I hadn't drunk. My chest tightened, my pulse hammering like a drum.
Not him, I told myself. Not now. Not ever.
But instinct didn't lie.
I didn't want to look through the peephole. I didn't want to know. But the air had shifted, heavy and charged, and I couldn't resist.
I approached the door, breath caught in my throat, my hand shaking as it hovered over the knob.
"Elizabeth," a voice whispered from the other side.
It was smooth, effortless, the voice I had feared and remembered for years.
I swallowed. My lips were dry. My stomach twisted in knots.
I opened the door.
He was there. Kian.
The same boy who had haunted my teenage years. The one who had left scars invisible to the world but seared into my very bones. His presence was calm, casual, deceptively unthreatening, but every muscle in my body screamed danger.
"Hi," he said, stepping closer. His eyes held that same, impossible intensity, scanning me like he already owned the space.
I didn't speak.
"I wanted to see you," he said, almost softly. "I need to… explain."
I wanted to slam the door, scream at him, throw the envelope at his face, tell him exactly what I thought of him. But my hands trembled too much, my body betrayed me.
I forced myself to step back. "You shouldn't be here."
He tilted his head slightly, amused. "Shouldn't?" His lips curved into that infuriating, teasing smile that had once made me trust him. "You never liked boundaries anyway."
Something moved behind him—almost imperceptible—but it made my skin crawl. A shadow stretched from the corner of the hall, darker than the rest, shifting as though alive. I froze.
Kian glanced at it briefly, his smirk faltering for the first time. Then he turned back to me, brushing it off like a trick of the light.
"Ignore that," he said. "It's nothing. Just… noise."
I wanted to scream that it wasn't nothing. That I could feel it. That I had felt it since Daniel died, since Mara had returned the envelope, since the shadows began crawling into my life. But I remained silent, trembling, trying to measure my fear.
"You've changed," he said, slowly walking past me into the apartment without waiting for an invitation. "Stronger. Sharper. But still…" His gaze lingered. "…fragile in the right ways."
I swallowed. My throat was dry. My hands clenched into fists.
The air thickened. The shadow behind him shifted, and I realized I wasn't imagining the sensation that had haunted me for weeks. Something was following him. Something that didn't belong here—or anywhere human. Something patient, waiting, and hungry.
I wanted to move, to act, but my body wouldn't obey. I could only watch as Kian leaned against the counter, casual, confident, as if he were unafraid of the presence curling through the apartment behind him.
"Why are you here?" I finally asked, my voice shaking.
He shrugged. "Curiosity. Necessity. Maybe remorse."
I laughed bitterly. "Remorse? That's rich coming from you."
His smile faltered again, just slightly. "I know I've hurt you. More than anyone ever should. And yes, I see that now. But it's… complicated."
"Complicated? You destroyed my life," I spat, stepping toward him, though I forced myself to stay behind the coffee table like a fragile shield. "You and Daniel both. You ruined me, and you watched him do it too. You were supposed to care about me."
His jaw tightened, a shadow flickering across his expression. He didn't respond immediately. He simply stared, and in the silence, I could feel the presence behind him grow colder, darker, more defined.
Then the air shifted, heavier, tighter. A low, guttural whisper crawled along the walls, brushing the edges of my consciousness. It wasn't a voice I recognized, not entirely. It wasn't human. But it had intentions.
And I understood: it was tied to him.
"Do you feel that?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper, my body shaking uncontrollably.
Kian finally glanced behind him, eyes narrowing. The shadow twisted and pulsed like it had a heartbeat. Then he laughed softly, a dry, humorless sound. "Yes. You always notice these things."
"What is it?" I demanded. "What follows you?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he took a step closer to me, and I could feel the apartment shift with his movement. The shadow recoiled slightly, then stretched again, looming like it was preparing to strike.
"It's… necessary," he said finally. "It keeps things balanced. It protects. And sometimes… it punishes."
I wanted to vomit. I wanted to run. I wanted to throw him out, slam every door, every window, and disappear into the streets. But I couldn't move. My fear had paralyzed me, just as it had when I was sixteen and he first showed me what he was capable of.
"You brought it here," I whispered. "It's in my home because of you."
He tilted his head, almost sad. "It doesn't belong to me," he said softly. "But it doesn't leave me behind either."
The shadow stretched again, taller this time, almost human in form, but darker than night, like a void that absorbed every ounce of light. It was patient. Waiting. Hungry. I could feel it, not just in my body, but in my bones, pressing against my chest, twisting my stomach, whispering threats I couldn't decipher.
I stumbled back toward the door, clutching the envelope as if it were the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity.
"You need to leave," I said, voice trembling. "Now."
He paused at the threshold, looking at me with that infuriating intensity, and for a moment, I swore I saw the boy who had once made me feel safe—the illusion of safety that had been ripped away so violently.
"I will," he said finally. "But not before you understand. You're part of something far bigger than either of us. And this…" His gaze flicked to the shadow behind him. "…this will follow you. Always."
And just like that, he was gone.
The door closed with a heavy click, and the shadow lingered for a heartbeat longer before dissipating into nothing. The air was still, silent, but the cold remained, curling around me like fingers.
I sank to the floor, trembling, clutching the envelope. The presence had been here. It had watched. It had marked me.
And I realized, with a certainty that made my chest ache: Kian's visits were never casual.
This wasn't curiosity.
This wasn't remorse.
This was a warning.
The next strike was coming.
And whatever followed him would not wait.