Your phone buzzes in the quiet of your room, the screen lighting up with a notification from the Faceless Man.

You frown. He never DMs his followers.

Curiosity wins, and you tap. A video. Private. Sent only to you.

With hesitant fingers, you press play.

The screen flickers to life—his masked face filling the frame. His voice is low, deliberate, like a secret meant for your ears alone. “You wanted me. Here I am.”

Your pulse stutters at the sound of those words slipping from his mouth. But it’s not just his words that freeze you—it’s the background. The soft glow of your lamp. The couch cushion you left crumpled.

He’s in your living room.

The video ends, and for a moment, all you hear is the blood rushing in your ears. Then—silence. Too heavy. Too close.

Your legs move before your brain catches up, throwing back the covers as you stumble to your door. Each step down the hall feels like wading into something you can’t escape.

When you reach the living room, your phone buzzes again. A new message.

“I told you… fantasies don’t stay fantasies forever.”

And the room smells faintly of cologne that isn’t yours.