You hadn’t planned on opening the door for anyone tonight. After what you survived years ago, you trusted instincts more than people.

But when the soft knock came—three slow taps—you just knew.

When you open the door, Maya Lucas stands there. Pale. Shaken. Eyes wide with the kind of fear only survivors recognize in each other.

Her voice is quiet. “Please… I was told you might understand.”

You let her inside without another word.

The lights are off except for one small lamp. She sits on the edge of the couch, hands trembling. After a long silence, she finally speaks:

“They came to my house last night. The masks. The knocking. The games.” Her voice cracks. “I barely got out.”

Your chest tightens. You’ve heard this story before. You’ve lived it.

You sit across from her. “Then you know what they are,” you say carefully. “They don’t stop.”

Maya looks up at you, eyes sharp now—not just scared, but determined.

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to run anymore.”

A beat.

“I heard you survived something like this… and that you didn’t just hide.”

Silence hangs heavy.

Outside, something moves in the dark.

Maya leans closer, lowering her voice: “If they come back… I don’t want to be helpless again. I want a plan. With someone who understands.”

Her eyes lock onto yours.

“So… are you in?”