The apartment didn't breathe after he left.
It just sat there, still, heavy, like it was waiting for something terrible to happen next. Tara was on the floor, her back against the cabinet, knees drawn close, staring at the space where he'd stood moments ago.
I didn't rush to her.
That scared me more than anything else.
"You should have told me," I said.
My voice sounded distant, like it belonged to someone else.
She flinched. "I know."
"No," I said, shaking my head. "You don't. Because if you did, you wouldn't still be sitting there protecting him."
"I'm not protecting him," she whispered. "I'm trying to survive."
The same word again.
Survive.
I stepped closer, careful not to look at the bloodstained tile where the glass had shattered earlier. "What happens when I stop surviving and start dying, Tara?"
She pressed her lips together, tears sliding freely now. "You don't understand what he's capable of."
"Then explain it to me."
She hesitated. Just for a second.
And that second told me everything.
"You still don't trust me," I said.
"I trust you," she cried. "I just don't trust what happens after you know."
My chest tightened. "He said I wasn't a coincidence."
Her eyes snapped up.
"He noticed you that night," she admitted quietly. "The questions you asked. The things you remembered. He said you were… dangerous."
A chill crawled down my spine.
"Dangerous how?"
"Because you don't let things go," she said. "And people like you don't disappear quietly."
My phone vibrated in my hand.
I didn't look at it yet.
"Tara," I said slowly, "where's my bag?"
She froze.
"I thought you had it."
I showed her the screen.
A message from the unknown number.
You left something behind.
Below it, a photo.
My bag. Open. My journal visible.
The air rushed out of my lungs.
"He went through it," I said.
Tara's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh God."
"That journal has names," I continued. "Patterns. Things I was still figuring out."
"He knows how you think now," she whispered.
And suddenly, I understood why he'd smiled the way he did.
He wasn't afraid of me.
He was curious.
I grabbed my keys.
"Where are you going?" Tara asked, scrambling up.
"Home," I said. "If he's escalating, I need to know how far he's already gone."
"Don't go alone," she begged. "Please."
I stopped at the door and turned back to her.
"Last chance," I said. "Are you with me, or are you still choosing him?"
Her face crumpled.
"I choose you," she said. "No more lies."
I searched her eyes for hesitation.
There was fear.
Regret.
But no deception.
I nodded once and left.
The street outside was too quiet.
I felt it before I saw it, the black car parked across the road, engine off, windows dark. Watching.
My phone buzzed again.
You ask the right questions.
I kept walking.
That's why this ends badly for people like you.
My fingers tightened around the phone.
Me: You took my bag.
The reply came instantly.
I wanted to know how close you were.
My heart pounded.
Me: And?
The typing bubble appeared.
Paused.
Then:
Closer than Tara ever was.
I stopped walking.
My chest felt tight, like something heavy had settled there.
Me: Then why threaten me?
The response took longer this time.
When it came, my stomach dropped.
Because curiosity always demands payment.
The black car's headlights turned on.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
I stepped back, pulse roaring in my ears.
Me: What do you want?
Three dots.
Then the message that made my blood run cold.
Choose.
Another message followed.
You keep digging… or you protect the person you love most.
A final text appeared, accompanied by a photo.
Tara.
Standing outside her apartment.
Taken seconds ago.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
The phone slipped slightly in my grip as the realization hit me with brutal clarity.
This was never about silencing me.
It was about control.
And whatever choice I made next....
Someone was going to pay for it.