Warmth cocooned me as I stretched lazily against the soft comforter, a small sigh of contentment escaping my lips. Finally, the weekend.
No alarms. No responsibilities. Just a slow, peaceful morning.
I grinned to myself and reached for my phone—fingers skimming over the empty space where it should be.
Not there.
I frowned, blinking the last traces of sleep from my eyes. That's weird. I always left it right here.
Maybe I left it somewhere else last night? I shrugged off the thought and wrapped my duvet around me like a nest before swinging my feet onto the cold wooden floor. A slight shiver ran up my spine, but I ignored it.
Today's going to be a good day.
Humming, I made my way to my walk-in closet, passing through to the adjoining bathroom. The warm steam from my shower loosened my muscles, making me feel lighter, almost weightless.
By the time I stepped out, wrapped in a fresh towel, I was practically beaming. No stress. No worries.
My fingers skimmed through the limited clothing options in my closet, finally settling on a beige and white summer dress. It was simple, nothing fancy, but comfortable.
"This place still doesn't feel like home," I muttered under my breath, running my fingers across the smooth, empty shelves.
I had lived here for months, yet the space still felt foreign, untouched. Like a museum display of someone else's life.
Brushing off the thought, I finished tying up my hair and stepped out into the hallway, the lingering scent of last night's rain still clinging to the air.
I turned toward my bed, ready to straighten it out—
Then, I saw it.
A single, dark red stain on my pillowcase.
I stopped mid-step, my breath catching in my throat. My mind stalled.
Red.
My first thought was lipstick. Maybe I had fallen asleep with makeup on? But no—I wiped my face before bed.
I hesitated before flipping the pillow over, hiding the stain. Weird. Maybe I scratched myself in my sleep?
Shrugging, I turned away, but something nagged at me. Like an itch I couldn't reach.
My phone. I still hadn't found it.
A quick search around my room turned up nothing. I checked the kitchen. The dining area. The breakfast nook. The family room.
Still nothing.
A groan of frustration left my lips. I'm going to be late.
Giving up, I grabbed my purse and rushed toward the back exit. Just as I reached for the handle, my foot kicked something across the hallway.
A faint skidding sound.
I froze. Slowly, my eyes followed the object's path.
My phone.
Lying facedown. Screen shattered.
A chill crept up my spine. Did I drop it?
Bending down, I picked it up, turning it over in my hands. My heart skipped a beat. The edges were scratched, dented, almost as if someone had stepped on it.
What the hell?
I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. Maybe I dropped it harder than I thought.
That's when I saw it.
At the far end of the hallway—just above the baseboard. A smudge.
A single, thin streak of dried red.
My stomach twisted.
A sharp, ringing silence pressed into my ears as I stepped closer, fingers hovering just inches away from the stain.
Then, as if something clicked into place—
A memory.
Cold fingers.
A whisper.
The dark hallway.
The door refusing to open.
The feeling of something behind me.
My breath hitched. I yanked my hand back and bolted out the door.
The busy streets blurred past me, the noise of the city muffled by the pounding of my heart. I barely felt the biting morning air as I hurried toward the library.
I needed distraction.
---
The moment I stepped inside, I was greeted by a sharp, unimpressed voice.
"You look like hell."
I turned toward the counter where Merda stood, arms crossed, glaring at me like I had personally inconvenienced her by existing.
A slow smile tugged at my lips. "Good morning to you too."
She scoffed, brushing a loose gray strand from her face. "You're late."
"You're bitter."
"I have every right to be." She huffed, throwing a pen at me. "Get to work before I change my mind about letting you in here."
I rolled my eyes, but this was comforting. Merda was a thorny old woman, but underneath her bark and bitterness, she cared. Even if she'd rather choke than admit it.
As I walked toward the shelves, I caught sight of Rhys, the security guard I met yesterday.
"Ava," he greeted with a nod, stacking books onto the highest shelves.
"Morning." I smiled.
Before I could say more, a loud crash from the back of the library made both of us jump.
Rhys moved first, sprinting down the aisle.
I hesitated for a split second before chasing after him.
We rounded the corner—and froze.
One of the massive bookshelves had collapsed, trapping someone beneath it.
Rhys was already pulling books away when I rushed to help. But as soon as we freed the trapped man, my blood turned to ice.
Him.
The man from yesterday.
His presence felt wrong.
His dark, unblinking gaze burned into me, like he was trying to see past my skin.
Too still. Too sharp.
His lips curled slightly, but the smile never reached his eyes.
"Can you stop gaping at me and let go of my hand?"
His voice was low. Smooth, but off.
I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away.
Rhys pointed to the deep gash on his forehead.
"You're bleeding."
"Am I?" He touched the wound, pulling his fingers back stained red.
His expression didn't change.
Something about him set my nerves on fire.
I fled to grab the first-aid kit, returning just as a small crowd gathered. My hands trembled as I dabbed at the wound.
His eyes never left mine.
"There," I muttered, stepping back.
He merely tilted his head, still clutching a black book with gold writing.
I frowned. That wasn't there before.
"Rhys," I whispered. "What's he holding?"
Rhys, eyes locked on the man, muttered, "I don't know. Never seen it before."
Rhys left for a family emergency Hours before Merda kicked me out with leftover pasta, I finally returned home.
The house loomed too large, too empty.
I double-checked the locks before heading upstairs, feeling an odd sense of urgency, like I needed to get inside—fast.
The moment my bedroom door clicked shut, I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
Safe.
Warm pasta in one hand, I settled onto my bed, unlocking my iPad. Game of Thrones, season two. Something to drown out the eerie silence of the house.
But just as I took my first bite—my stomach twisted.
Something was wrong.
I didn't know what, but the air felt heavier.
Slowly, I set my food down, reaching into my bag for my broken phone—
My fingers met something else.
Something smooth. Velvet-like.
Something I never put there.
A chill shot down my spine as I yanked my hand back like I'd been burned. My pulse thundered in my ears. No. No, no, no.
I peeked inside my bag.
My throat locked up.
The black book.
The same one that man was holding. The one I never touched. Never took.
How?
My breath hitched as I slowly reached in, fingers trembling as they wrapped around the cool surface.
I pulled it out, heart hammering.
It was too silent. The house, the world—everything.
I ran my fingers over the golden writing on the cover.
It felt...wrong.
Too cold.
Too smooth.
I forced myself to open it.
Nothing.
The pages were completely blank.
I exhaled sharply, nearly laughing at my own paranoia. What was I expecting? A cursed message? Some horror movie nonsense?
But just as I went to close the book—
A single, folded piece of paper slipped out.
My body turned ice-cold.
Slowly, I reached for it, fingers numb.
I unfolded it.
A sharp gasp caught in my throat.
Deep, dark red letters stretched across the page, jagged and uneven—
"They're watching you."
The words bled into the paper. The edges were still wet.
My hands shook.
That wasn't ink....