Time check: 10:45 p.m

Door creaks, followed by loud footsteps, disrupt your sleep. Feeling scared, you texted your boyfriend, Conan.

Help, I think someone broke in.

Upon receiving your text, his body trembled with fear. He was afraid—not for your safety but for himself.

Every night, he kept receiving the same message from you. It has already been three years since you passed away.

Your soul was stuck in a loop the moment before you were mur—dered, believing Conan would save you this time.