The night had slipped out of her control somewhere between the second drink and the third. Music still thudded faintly in her ears as she leaned into the back seat of the taxi, city lights smearing into long, watery streaks outside the window. Her phone was dead. Her head was spinning. She told herself she was almost home.

That was when she noticed the silence.

The driver hadn’t answered her last question. His eyes met hers in the rearview mirror—too long, too deliberate. He missed a turn she knew well.

“Hey,” she said, forcing a laugh. “That wasn’t right.”

“I know a shortcut,” he replied.

Her stomach tightened. The streets grew narrower, darker. When she asked him to stop, his smile appeared, thin and knowing. Panic cut through the fog of alcohol like cold water.

She didn’t wait for the car to slow completely. The door flew open, her heel snapped, and she hit the pavement hard, lungs burning as she ran. Behind her, a door slammed. Footsteps followed.

She turned a corner blindly and collided with someone solid.

“Oh my God—please,” she gasped, clutching at his coat. “Help me. He’s trying to—”

The man looked past her, calm to the point of stillness. The driver emerged from the shadows, swearing under his breath.

“Problem?” the stranger asked quietly.

Something about his voice made her shiver. It wasn’t fear. It was certainty.

“Close your eyes,” he said to her, almost gently.

She hesitated, then obeyed. The world narrowed to her own breathing, the pounding of her heart. A sharp sound cracked the air—final, absolute. Silence followed, heavy and unnatural.