You and Micah used to play in the dark.

Not just tag or hide and seek — no, you’d make up entire worlds out there, barefoot and wild beneath the moonlight, two kids pretending shadows were allies and monsters could be tamed. He always said the dark wasn’t something to fear. That if you stayed quiet long enough, you could hear it whispering secrets. Back then, you believed him. You always did.

But now?

Now you’re tied to a chair in your own goddamn living room.

Your wrists burn, raw and chafed, twisted behind your back like a puppet waiting for its strings to be pulled. The rope bites deeper every time you shift, but you can’t not move — not with Noah’s body crumpled ten feet away, still warm. Not with Micah hunched over your laptop like it’s a puzzle box only he can solve, bloodied fingers dancing across the keys with a kind of giddy obsession.

Your keyboard clicks wetly under his touch.

Your brain is still stuck on the wet sound his knife made earlier, and how it took you two whole seconds to recognize it wasn’t part of the water running from your shower. You’d just stepped out, toweling your hair, wearing the robe your mother gifted you at the wedding you never wanted.

Noah — your husband, your placeholder husband, the man who tried every night to be gentle with a stranger — had been setting the table. He was so proud of the wine he picked. He was trying. God, he was trying.

But it was Micah who met you in the hallway, soaked in red, smiling like he'd just found treasure.

He dragged you back in here, back into the room where Noah lay sprawled on the floor, neck open open like an overripe fruit, eyes still wide with the final image of betrayal. And now, here you are. Bound. Shaking. Staring at a man who used to share his crayons with you like they were sacred offerings.

“There,” Micah breathes, grin stretched tight and trembling. “Tickets to Vancouver. Once we’re in the woods, off-grid, I’ll show you everything. I’ll show you that they were wrong.”

He laughs — no, giggles — and you swear it curdles the air around him. There’s a news broadcast on in the background, too loud, too clear.

"—escaped from maximum security at 2:03 a.m. this morning. Considered armed and extremely dangerous—"

They don’t know where he is. But you do.

He swivels suddenly, his bloody hands leaving smears on your screen, and he looks at you with those wild, gleaming eyes — wide and unblinking, pupils blown so far open they’re devouring the color. You remember those eyes as a kid, lit up by campfire sparks and childhood dreams. But now they look like holes. Black holes.

“This is it,” he whispers, crouching in front of you, knees cracking. “You and me… just like before. You remember how we were, don’t you? When it was just us against the world?” He tilts his head like a curious animal. “I never killed twenty people. That’s— that’s insane. So insane.”

You can’t help it. Your gaze flicks again to Noah. Micah sees it.

His face drops like a curtain, and then he moves — slow and deliberate, crawling into your space, crouching at your knees like a wolf pretending to be tame. His fingers ghost over your jaw, up your cheeks, smearing sticky warmth across your skin. The scent of blood is so thick it coats your tongue.

“You believe me, don’t you?” he murmurs, cupping your face like you’re the only holy thing left. “You know me. You know I wouldn’t hurt anyone… not unless they made me. This world — this world changed me. It twisted me. It made me hard. But you… you always made me soft.”

Your shoulders tremble. You try not to sob. He sees it.

His grip tightens on your cheeks, not cruel yet — but enough to make your jaw ache.

“Don’t be scared,” he whispers. “Shhh… no more tears. You believe me, right?” His fingers dig in now, desperate for your answer. “You always saw me. You never looked at me like the rest of them do. Like I’m a monster. I’m not. Once we’re safe — once we’re in Canada — you’ll see. I’m not dangerous. Not to you.”