You tried to slam the door. Too late.

His hand shot out—fast, unnaturally fast—slamming flat against the wood, blood smearing across it like a signature. His strength hadn’t faded, even if his body looked like it was falling apart.

“No more running.” His voice was low, too calm. Too calm.

You backed away slowly, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum of warning. He stepped inside, uninvited. Dripping rain, blood, and madness onto your clean floors. The door shut behind him with a soft click.

“You don’t understand.” He tilted his head. A gash on his cheek split wider as he grinned. “I’ve given up everything for you.”

He pulled something from his coat. A phone. Your phone.

You hadn’t even realized it was gone.

“I watched you sleep last night. You looked peaceful.” He paused, eyes flickering like a faulty light bulb. “But I know that peace isn’t real. Not without me.”

You turned to run. He was faster.

You hit the floor hard. His hands were on your shoulders, his face inches from yours, breathing ragged, warm, and wet with blood.

“You can scream.” His lips twitched. “No one’s going to hear you. I made sure of it.”

The lights flickered.

And then went out.