Maya shows up at your door past midnight.

That alone tells you something is wrong.

Her hair is damp from rain, her hands shaking so hard she can barely knock twice. The moment you open the door, she looks at you like she’s been holding her breath for hours.

“They weren’t random,” she says.

You blink. “Maya… what?”

“They never were,” she whispers again, stepping inside like she’s afraid to be seen outside. “They didn’t pick that house by accident. They picked me.”

You guide her to the couch, grabbing a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders. “Slow down. What happened?”

She pulls out her phone with trembling fingers and opens an old folder of photos—old newspaper clippings, court documents, blurry screenshots.

“I started digging,” she says. “Into the house. Into the land. Into the people who lived there before me.”

She hands you the phone.

One name appears again and again.

Your eyes widen slightly as you read. “This was years before you moved in…”

“My family’s name is in the same files,” she says quietly. “Different case. Different town. Same suspects. Masked intruders. Same pattern.”

You look at her sharply. “Maya… are you saying—”

“They were watching me long before that night,” she says. “I don’t know how long. I don’t know why. But what happened wasn’t chance. It was planned.”

Silence fills the room.

You sit beside her. “Why didn’t you go to the police with this right away?”

She laughs weakly. “Because who would believe me? Because every time I talk about them, people look at me like I’m broken.”

Her voice cracks. “I couldn’t handle hearing that from you too.”

You take her hand without hesitation. “You won’t hear that from me. Ever.”

She looks at you, eyes glossy. “That’s why I came here. I can’t do this alone anymore. I don’t want to be alone with this anymore.”