Page 15

Fifteen

I didn’t realize how much I had missed the silence until I stepped into my apartment.

The air inside was still, undisturbed, like no one had been here in weeks. But I had only been gone a handful of days. My fingers tightened around the strap of my overnight bag as I closed the door behind me, the deadbolt sliding into place with a heavy thunk.

It felt normal, but it didn’t feel right .

The air carried the faint scent of something I couldn’t quite place—like the lingering warmth of a fire long since extinguished. The kind of scent that settled into fabric and walls, making itself a part of the space. My skin prickled, but I told myself it was nothing.

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to shake it off. It was just the shift from being around my parents, their constant noise and movement, to the solitude of my own space. I had lived alone for years—this wasn’t new.

And yet, something was.

The dolls sat exactly where I had left them, perched on the highest shelf in my bedroom. Sun, radiant and golden, his porcelain lips frozen in a smirk. Moon, cracked and cold, his silver surface fractured like old marble.

Watching.

I shivered, rubbing my arms as I turned away before my mind could latch onto the unease curling at the base of my spine. I had more important things to focus on.

My phone buzzed as I set my bag down. I fished it out of my coat pocket, swiping the screen without thinking.

Caleb: Hope you made it back okay. Still good for dinner Friday?

I hesitated, thumb hovering over the keyboard. For a second, I wasn’t sure why. Then, with a sharp inhale, I typed out a quick response.

Me: Just got in. Friday sounds great. Looking forward to it.

A beat passed before his reply came in.

Caleb: Me too. Sleep well, Dawn.

I smiled faintly, pocketing my phone. See? Normal. This was normal.

I moved through my usual routine without thinking, setting my bag in the corner, hanging up my coat, turning on the dim lamp beside the couch. Every action felt automatic, second nature. Too easy.

I made my way into the kitchen, opening the cabinet to grab a glass. My hand reached up, found the exact cup I wanted without searching.

My other hand was already turning on the sink.

Filling the glass.

Bringing it to my lips.

Drinking.

It was only when I set the glass down that the cold realization hit me.

I hadn’t thought about any of it.

My body had moved before my mind even registered what I was doing, each motion seamless, fluid—like muscle memory I didn’t remember developing.

A chill crawled down my spine, slow and insidious. I turned toward the hallway, my gaze flickering toward my reflection in the darkened glass of the microwave.

It was still.

Then it wasn’t.

For the briefest moment, my reflection lagged. A split-second delay, like a faulty video feed catching up to itself. My breath hitched.

Then, the whisper.

Good girl.

I dropped the glass.

It hit the counter with a dull clatter, the sound too sharp in the quiet. My pulse thundered in my ears, my breath uneven as I stumbled back a step.

The reflection was normal again.

The microwave screen, just a microwave screen.

I swallowed hard, shaking my head. It was exhaustion. That was all.

I had spent too much time thinking about them. The dolls. The nightmares. The lingering feeling of being watched. I needed sleep. I needed to stop jumping at shadows.

I forced myself to leave the kitchen, shutting off the light as I went. My bedroom felt colder than before, but I ignored it, tugging the curtains shut before slipping under the blankets.

The weight of exhaustion settled over me fast, pulling at my limbs, dragging me into stillness. I curled onto my side, pressing my face against the pillow, inhaling the faint scent of lavender from my laundry detergent.

I was tired.

That was all.

Everything was fine.

Everything was?—

The sheets shifted.

A warmth curled along my spine, slow and creeping, like sunlight stretching across skin. A pulse of heat that sank deep, spreading through my muscles, loosening the tension in my shoulders.

I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

The sensation grew, wrapping around me like an embrace I hadn’t asked for, hadn’t noticed, hadn’t invited.

A whisper brushed the edge of my thoughts, curling against the raw edge of my consciousness like silk.

You missed us, didn’t you?

I shuddered, my fingers twisting into the sheets. The warmth pressed deeper, seeping into my skin, my mind. My body relaxed despite itself, sinking further into the mattress.

A feeling of weight—an unseen presence—pressed against my chest, as if something was lying beside me, holding me in place. My breath shallowed, my pulse slowing in response to the heavy lull of warmth blanketing me.

Good girl.

A sharp inhale punched through my lungs, my eyes snapping open.

The warmth was gone.

The room was silent.

I sat up slowly, my breath ragged, my pulse hammering against my ribs. My gaze darted toward the shelf.

The dolls hadn’t moved.

But they were waiting.

They always were.

A faint hum lingered in the back of my mind, an almost imperceptible vibration curling around my thoughts. The last remnants of warmth skated along my skin before dissipating completely.

And I was starting to realize?—

Something inside me had shifted.

Not something foreign or new, but something I hadn’t noticed before—something that had been growing in the quiet spaces of my mind.

A pattern.

An instinct.

Like a song I had been humming without realizing it, one that had been playing softly beneath my thoughts, guiding me, molding me.

And now, for the first time, I could hear it clearly.