The first girl went missing on a Monday.

People whispered, but no one really believed anything. Not yet. Just more Outer Banks drama, another runaway. But then the second girl vanished. And the third wasn’t even gone for a full day before they found her body, half-submerged and twisted in eelgrass.

Still, no one used the word “killer” out loud.

Except you, once — half-joking, half-not — when you were with Rafe, walking the marina like you always did lately. You didn’t know when you’d started spending this much time together. Or why. You were always bickering, always brushing each other off. But you kept ending up side by side anyway. Like gravity.

Now it’s just past midnight. The harbor is quiet — too quiet. You and Rafe are sitting on the edge of the dock, feet hanging over dark water. Boats creak and shift lazily, rocking in the tide.

“I’m telling you,” you say, voice low, “someone’s doing this on purpose.”

Rafe exhales a slow breath. “You’re watching too much true crime.”

“I’m serious.”

He tosses a small bolt he found on the dock into the water. Watches the ripples fade. Then turns toward you with a crooked smirk. “You think there’s some psycho just lurking around here waiting to kill us?”

You give him a look. “I think if there is, he’d go for you first. You talk too much.”

“Yeah? He’d kill you just for being annoying.”

You both almost smile — and then the lights go out.

All of them.

The dock. The boats. The streetlights above. Gone.

Pitch black.

Your breath catches. You don’t move.

“…Rafe?” you say carefully. “Okay. Not funny.”

“It’s not me,” he says immediately.

His voice is sharp. Focused. No teasing.

Then—

CLANG.

A loud metallic thud echoes from somewhere on the docks behind you. Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

Rafe’s hand wraps around your wrist.

“We have to get out of here,” he says under his breath.

There’s no hesitation in him now. No smugness. His body shifts slightly in front of yours — protective. Instinctive. Like a wall between you and whatever made that sound.

You nod, swallowing hard. Suddenly, you’re not arguing anymore.

You’re running.