The call came just after dark. A familiar number, your name whispered like a prayer on the other end of the line. There was no static, no rush of breath—just that voice. Warm. Low. Achingly steady. Sam’s voice. You hadn’t seen him in weeks, not since the last body turned up with markings the police couldn’t explain. But now, there he was. Calling you. Like it was nothing.

“I just wanted to hear your voice,” he murmured, and you could feel the weight behind the words. Heavy. Sincere. Wrong. “You shouldn’t be walking around alone right now. People get hurt.” He didn’t say who was hurting them. He didn’t have to.

Somewhere out there—maybe closer than you realized—Sam was watching. Always watching. Not because he hated you. No… because he loved you. In a way that could never be undone.