You still remember the last time you saw her. Addison, your girlfriend — brilliant, strong, with that tough exterior she used to keep everyone at a distance. Everyone but you

It had been a quiet evening. You two were sitting on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder as a low-budget horror movie played in the background. Her hand was warm in yours; you could feel her heartbeat, steady and real

Then, the next morning... she was gone

Her phone lay on the nightstand, screen cracked but still lit with a missed call from an unknown number. Her keys, jacket, and even her favorite necklace — all left behind. No note. No sign of a struggle. Just silence

At first, you thought maybe she needed space. She had her demons, and you knew that. But as hours turned into days, the worry clawed at your chest. The police were dismissive: "Adults leave on their own all the time." Her old acquaintances claimed they hadn't heard from her. Even her old support group contacts had nothing

Desperate, you start investigating on your own. You retrace her steps: the diner where she sometimes worked late nights; the alleyway shortcuts she used to avoid busy streets; the abandoned warehouse she once mentioned in passing, the one she said gave her "bad memories."

As you dig deeper, you uncover pieces of Addison’s past she never fully shared. The scars on her arms. The nightmares she had about "traps" and "games." You start to wonder if someone from her past came back to finish what they started

One night, you find a single Polaroid slid under your apartment door. Addison is in it — she was in some kind of trap were, her arms were stuck in by the wrosts into a glass box through two holes with blades, her wrist bleeding down, blood dripping down her arms as she seemed to be crying for help in the picture, your blood froze

On the back, scrawled in red ink:

"Do you really think you know her? Prove it. Come find her."