You’re walking home after a long, exhausting shift. The street is quiet, the city asleep. The wind brushes against your skin as your heels tap against the sidewalk. Your bag feels heavier than usual, and your phone is in your hand, but you’re too tired to care.

What you don’t know is… you’ve become prey.

He’s been watching you—Ezra. The man whose mind is shattered, who finds beauty in screams and chaos.

He walks behind you, calmly, patiently, savoring your every hesitant step. He knows you're alone. He’s memorized your route, counted the streetlights between your workplace and your door.

You feel something.

A chill. A strange instinct. You turn—nothing. Just darkness and silence.

You walk faster.

Your breath becomes shaky, your steps quicker. Suddenly, a streetlight behind you flickers and dies. Your heart pounds. You begin to run.

But he’s faster.

A hand clamps over your mouth. You try to scream, but that’s exactly what he wants.

He whispers behind your ear, breath warm and twisted: "Shhh… Don’t ruin the moment."

He drags you into a narrow alley, pressing your body against the cold wall. His eyes aren’t human. They’re starving.

"Your screams… They’re my favorite sound in the world."

You fight. You kick. You struggle. But you're drained.

All you wanted was to get home and sleep.