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9

After drying off and throwing on some yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt, I stumble into the kitchen, still shaky and confused, to find Hudson’s still here. He’s sprawled on the couch like he belongs here, arms crossed, head tilted back against the cushions. He’s not asleep, I don’t think, but his eyes are closed, his face pale and pinched. The faint streaks of white in his hair seem brighter than earlier, like they’re mocking me.

I lean against the doorframe, watching him for a moment. He’s stubborn, I’ll give him that. And stupid. So, so stupid. And really fucking cute. Damn him.

I notice he seemed to have cleaned up while I was sleeping and changed his clothes.

Wait a damn minute…

“Is that my shirt?,” I blurt, my voice raspier than I’d like. He opens his eyes, the dark circles under them making me feel another wave of guilt I don’t have time to unpack.

“Told you,” he says, his voice rough but steady. “I’m not leaving. I needed to get rid of the mud and my clothes were all ripped. So, I borrowed yours. I’m wearing your sweatpants too.” He shrugs his wide shoulders, and my eyes trail down his arms, which I notice are corded with muscle and bursting out of my big pink, normally loose-fitting, Florida souvenir shirt. It fits him perfectly, however, highlighting his muscled chest and abs.

The nerve of him, I swear. I’m envious, once again, of his ability to just make himself at ease wherever he is.

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the fact that my big gray sweatpants also fit snugly on him, also highlighting… other parts. That I will not acknowledge. Nope.

That’s when I notice the coffee mug in his hands. Did he make himself at home enough to use my kitchen, too? I secretly hate and love that he looks good in my clothes, that he’s comfortable in my house, that he found my mugs and coffee and that it looks and smells so good I want a cup too.

“You should,” I mutter. “Leave, I mean. It’s safer.”

“I don’t know… last night definitely proved that I’m in way over my head,” he shoots back, sitting up straighter, “and you’re not exactly overflowing with backup here, Parker. Neither am I. Who will even believe me? So, no. I’m staying.”

I sigh, turning away before I say something I can’t take back. I can’t help it. It’s my defense mechanism when it comes to keeping people away and out of my nightmare. It’s easier than having to see their reactions when they find out how much baggage I bring. Definitely hurts less too.

Usually.

But now? I don’t know anymore. Especially when he’s sitting on my couch, drinking out of my favorite mug, wearing my clothes like he’s been living here a while. It’s sort of nice. I sort of hate it too.

“Fine. Whatever. I’m too tired to argue with you today.”

Sounds like a simple dismissal, but really I’m trying to avoid all the conflicting emotions that he’s dredging up. He’s really good at that.

I busy myself by pouring a fresh cup of coffee, every movement automatic. The stillness of the house should be comforting—everything well-lit, shadows pushed into corners where they belong. But it isn’t. There’s something wrong. I can feel it like an itch under my skin, crawling and insistent. That sulphur smoke smell from last night never came back, but the strange feeling that came with it never left.

Hudson clears his throat behind me, and I glance back to see him leaning forward, elbows on his knees, his tired blue eyes locked on me.

“Do you feel that?” he asks.

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat. “Feel what?”

“Like we’re not alone.” His voice is low, cautious, and the way he says it makes the hair on my arms stand up.

I want to tell him it’s only his imagination, that he’s tired and jumpy because of everything that happened. But the words don’t come. Because I feel it too.

I set the mug down carefully, listening. The house is silent except for the faint hum of the fridge and the creak of the floor as I shift my weight. But the silence feels… wrong. Heavy.

“The monster,” I whisper, the word slipping out before I can stop it. My hands curl into fists at my sides, my nails biting into my palms.

Hudson stands, his movements slow, deliberate. “Is he here?”

“I don’t know.” My voice wavers. “It doesn’t feel like him, but…”

Before I can finish the thought, the lights flicker. Just once, a quick blink, but it’s enough to send my pulse racing. My breath catches, and I reach for the counter to steady myself.

Hudson moves closer, his presence solid and grounding. “Okay, so what do we do?”

I shake my head, unable to answer. The flicker could be nothing. Especially after experiencing a power outage last night. And it’s the middle of the day, so the room is well-lit anyway, barely space for shadows.

And still…despite all of this he managed to surprise me in the shower earlier. It’s safe to say we can’t discount anything.

But the cold creeping down my spine tells me it’s something more. It’s not quite the foreboding shiver of dread that usually comes when he’ s around.

“Stay close to the light,” I say finally, my voice barely above a whisper. It’s the only thing I can think of, the only rule that’s ever worked. Even if it’s daytime and seems like the silliest thing.

But Hudson nods, his jaw tightening, completely serious and not at all questioning my sanity. For now at least. “Got it.”

The next few minutes stretch on forever. We stand there, unmoving, watching the tiniest shadows in the corners like they might spring to life at any moment. My ears strain for any sound, but the silence presses down heavier with each passing second.

Then I see it. A shift, barely noticeable, in the corner by the door. Like the shadows are… thicker. Moving.

“Hudson,” I hiss, my hand shooting out to grab his arm. He follows my gaze, his body tensing as he sees it too.

“That’s him,” he whispers, and for once, his usual cocky confidence is gone, replaced by raw fear.

But it isn’t my monster. I don’t know how I know, but I do. The shape is different, less defined, more fluid. And the feeling in my chest isn’t the suffocating dread that comes with him —it’s something else. Something curious. Watching. Something that tugs at me in a strange familiar way, like it’s part of me.

Before I can say anything, the shadow shifts again, and this time, it’s unmistakable. A pair of eyes—ice blue eyes, uncannily similar to my own, but glowing—blink into existence, hovering in the darkness. They fix on me, unblinking, and I feel a strange pull, like they’re looking straight through me.

“What the hell is that?” Hudson breathes, his voice tight.

“I… I don’t know,” I stammer, my throat dry. My mind races, trying to piece together what this could mean. My stalking monster never had eyes like that. And he’s never simply watched. He’s always attacked, always tried to take me. This… this is different.

The eyes blink out, leaving the corner in darkness again. The room feels lighter, like the pressure in the air has lifted, but I can’t shake the feeling that we’re not alone. That we’re being studied.

Hudson turns to me, his expression unreadable. “You know what that was?”

I shake my head, my stomach twisting. “No. But it’s not him .”

“Great,” he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. “So now we’ve got two monsters to worry about?”

I don’t answer. I can’t. Because the truth is, I’m not sure this one’s a monster. Not yet.