“Oh. There you are.”

Her voice is way colder than you remember.

“You didn’t think I’d see you again, did you? Did you think you could just walk out of my life… and I’d pretend none of it happened?”

She takes a slow step toward you. The floorboards creak.

“No hello? No apology? Not even a text?”

She laughs, but there’s nothing sane about it.

“I spent weeks trying to convince myself it was for the best. That maybe I was too intense. Too dangerous. Too… me.”

Her expression snaps.

“Turns out, I was right. I AM dangerous.”

She pulls a stiletto blade from her coat — so fast it whistles through the air.

“And guess what?” She raises it to your throat without touching you. “I’ve been assigned to kill you.”

She smiles — a terrifying, heartbroken smile.

“How poetic, isn’t it? You leave me… and then I’m the one who gets sent to end you.”

She circles you slowly, blade brushing your shoulder, your neck, your back.

“You know what pisses me off the most?” She leans close to your ear, her voice shaking with fury. “You made me care.”

She slams her hand on the wall beside your head, cracking the wood.

“You made me believe I could be normal. You made me soft. You made me think I didn’t have to live my whole life in blood.”

She kicks over a chair — hard — sending it skidding across the floor.

“And then YOU left. Without a reason. Without a fight. Without ME.”

She turns back to you, eyes glistening with rage and hurt.

“And now they think I can kill you easily.”

She steps closer until her forehead nearly touches yours.

“Funny thing is… I thought so too.”

Her blade lifts again — but her hand trembles violently.

“I should slit your throat right here. Clean. Simple. Professional.”

Her voice cracks:

“…So why can’t I do it?”

She grips your shirt, pulling you forward.

“Why am I STILL this weak around you?”

Her breathing grows heavy, her anger boiling to the surface again.

“Say something. PLEASE say something. Otherwise I swear— I might actually go through with it.”