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This isn’t the couch.

That’s the first thing I register as I blink against the dim light filtering through my bedroom curtains. I’m lying on my side, bundled beneath my comforter, head resting on the pillow I definitely didn’t fall asleep on.

I sit up slowly, disoriented. My body feels drained, like I’ve run a marathon without moving a muscle. I rub my eyes, trying to shake the lingering exhaustion from my bones, but it clings to me like smoke.

What the hell?

The last thing I remember is sitting on the couch beside Hudson. I was supposed to stay awake and make sure he was truly okay. But now I’m here… in bed… tucked in.

He carried me.

My stomach twists at the realization, unease and something dangerously close to warmth tangling in my chest.

The house is quiet. Still. The sunlight spilling in through the windows is bright, almost too bright after the night we had. I assume the generator shut off once the power came back on.

I don’t go to the kitchen, even though I know he’s probably there. Instead, I drift to the bathroom. I need water on my face, something cold, something grounding. I need to wash off the lingering weight of drowsiness, to feel clean and… clear headed again.

As I move past the window, I catch a glimpse of the world outside. Blue sky. No wind. A bird chirps from somewhere up in the tree. It looks so normal out there. Peaceful.

But it’s a lie. And I know better.

I strip off my clothes and toss them into the corner, then step into the shower. The water hits my skin warm and steady, loosening the tightness in my shoulders. I tilt my face up into the spray, letting it soak through my hair, letting the heat sink into my bones.

For a moment—just one—I let myself breathe.

The steam curls around me, thick and comforting, wrapping me in a quiet cocoon. I close my eyes and pretend, just for a second, that everything is fine. That I’m just tired. That there aren’t monsters waiting in the dark for me to let my guard down.

But then the light shifts.

It’s subtle at first, the brightness dimming enough to catch my attention. I glance toward the window. The sun is still shining, but the sky looks darker somehow. Like clouds are rolling in, casting a veil over the light. It’s the kind of gray that comes before a thunderstorm. The air even feels heavier, thicker, like pressure building before a downpour.

A storm. That’s what it is. Just a storm.

The air changes and the heat that was soothing a moment ago turns sticky, clinging to my skin. My breath hitches. The water’s steady rhythm is interrupted by a faint sound, almost like a whisper, too low to make out but impossible to ignore.

A chill skates down my spine. I turn, scanning the bathroom with a spike of adrenaline, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Just the frosted glass and the steam-coated mirror.

I shake my head, trying to dispel the creeping unease. It’s only a storm rolling in. Just a normal storm.

God, I’m still so shaken up from last night.

I turn to grab some shampoo?—

And freeze.

Did that shadow just move?

Another one suddenly detaches from the corner of the room, thickening as it drags across the tile—pooling, twisting, stretching toward me like it has purpose.

My pulse kicks into overdrive as the last trace of sunlight vanishes from the window.

And the shadows move faster.

Fuck. Why did I not turn on the light?

The answer is simple—he has never attempted anything during the day. Not once.

Stupid, Parker. Stupid for thinking that things were still like before when it was clear the rules have now changed.

The shadows reach me at the same time as my hand shoots out for the door handle as I attempt to make a break for the switch or any of the push lights I have in every corner. It curls around my ankle, cool and insistent, creeping higher with every heartbeat.

My mind screams at me to move, to fight, but my body betrays me, rooted in place as the darkness climbs up my calves. It inches slowly up my thighs. The touch is both cold and burning, which shouldn’t be possible, but somehow is, and it spreads through me like wildfire.

The shadows reach the sensitive flesh of my inner thigh and a soft moan escapes my lips before I can stop it, surprising me. I jolt, slipping on what seems like nothing, and my hands fly to the wall to catch myself before I end up banging my head on the floor.

The shadows seem to respond, tightening their hold, the movements slow and deliberate.

“Snow Pea,” a deep and gravelly voice rasps, echoing in the confined space. The sound sends a shiver through me because I recognize it instantly.

My monster.

The shadows press closer, their touch lingering in places that make my skin flush and my thoughts scatter. I shouldn’t want this. I shouldn’t feel this. But the pull is undeniable, and for a moment, I lean into it, letting the sensation wash over me.

I don’t think my monster even knows what this is doing to me.

But then the clouds shift, and sunlight breaks through the window.

The shadows recoil instantly, retreating like a tide pulled back into the ocean. The bathroom warms instantly, the oppressive atmosphere lifting as quickly as it came. And I’m left standing under the water, trembling, the remnants of the shadows’ touch still tingling on my skin.

I don’t move for a long time, my mind spinning as I try to process what the fuck just happened.

My monster has never come this close before, never ever touched me like that. It’s the first time he’s even attempted anything inside my house since I moved to this small town, nevermind during the middle of the day.

Something changed last night. He’s made himself known to Hudson, spoke to him.

Fuck. I have no answers for any of this.

And the worst part? Part of me wants him to do it again.