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The hallway’s quiet. It’s a silence that should feel peaceful, but doesn’t. There’s something off about it tonight. Something stale in the air. The buzz of a dying light fixture hums just overhead, casting a sickly glow over the peeling wallpaper.
Saxon’s already hinting at me moving to a safer neighborhood, but I like it here; the apartment’s just right in size. It’s central to everything and it’s homey. There’d have to be a very compelling reason for me to move.
I glance over my shoulder, like always. It’s a habit I can’t break. Not after everything I’ve lived through. But tonight, the hallway is empty. Whisper quiet.
I let out a shaky breath. Focus. Key in the lock. One click. Then another. The door swings open. Familiar. Ordinary. Home.
I step inside and use the heel of my boot to push the door closed behind me. That’s when it happens.
I don’t even get to set my bag down before a shadow lunges.Too fast. Before I can scream—before I even fully register what I’m seeing—pain erupts at the back of my skull. A sickening crack. White-hot. Blinding. The world lurches sideways as the impact shatters the fragile sense of safety I’d just begun to rebuild.
My tote bag slips from my shoulder. My keys scatter across the floor, sharp pings echoing through the apartment like gunshots.
I hit the ground hard. My cheek slams against the hardwood, the breath knocked from my lungs. My vision pulses. The room twists and bends, warping into something surreal. Unreal.
My brain screams danger, but my body won’t respond fast enough.
What the hell was that? Who?—?
I try to sit up, but my limbs feel like they’ve been filled with wet cement. My elbows buckle. The corners of my vision blur.
And then—I hear it. Click. The front door closing. Footsteps follow. Slow. Measured. Not rushed or panicked. Controlled. Like whoever’s here knows exactly what they’re doing.
My heart stumbles in my chest. No. Please, no.
I twist toward the sound, dragging myself with shaking arms across the floor. My body screams with every inch. But I don’t stop crawling away from the sound that descends upon me.
Kitchen. Drawer. Knife. Something. Anything. I make it a few feet before a foot lands on my back, holding me down with the weight of a giant.
“Stay…”
The voice that hits my ears isn’t human. It’s low, hypnotic, and obviously digitally processed. I twist my head toward the sound, get a glimpse of the intruder.
“Stay,” he says again, the word stretched and soulless, no emotion, no identity. My heart stutters. Whoever he is, he’s not risking recognition. A balaclava hides his face, but it’s that voice—that unnatural, digitally-twisted voice—that tells me this isn’t random. I must know him if he’s not willing to risk detection.
I whip around and kick out with everything I’ve got, heel aimed straight at his shin. It lands where it’s meant to.
He grunts, and my chest heaves as I scramble backward. My palms sting from scraping the floor. He circles me like a predator with no reason to rush. Watching. Waiting for me to wear myself down.
“You don’t have to do this,” I gasp, voice raw. “Please—just leave me alone.”
The man tilts his head, like I’ve disappointed him. “So dramatic. That mouth of yours…”
I claw at the floor, dragging myself with desperation I didn’t think I had left. Nails dig into the cracks between the boards. My muscles scream. My vision tunnels.
I feel him behind me before he touches me.
“No,” I rasp. “No, no—get away from me!”
But he doesn’t stop. His hand closes around my ankle like a clamp and yanks. I shriek.
My body scrapes across the floor, dragging like dead weight. My ribs slam into the wood. I twist, trying to claw at him—at anything—but he’s already crouched beside me.
I strike out, fingers aiming for his eyes, his mouth, his throat. I manage to grab his cheek through the mask, and I pull. Hard. He hisses, then rears his head back, away from me.
Then I see the cloth in his hand. He presses it over my mouth before I can scream again. The moment it touches my lips, I know. The smell hits my brain like fire. Chemical. Strong. Chloroform.
I thrash. My hands claw at his wrist. My legs kick, useless. My lungs burn. I bite down on the fabric, fighting him, but he’s stronger. Calm. Steady.