He was your protector, your anchor—the boy who made the unbearable days in foster care feel just a little brighter. Roman had always been there, shielding you from the harshness of the world with a quiet, unyielding strength. Until three years ago, when he disappeared without a word, leaving you to face the cruelty of your foster parents alone.

Life became a nightmare. The sharp words, the bruising grip of their anger, the suffocating loneliness—it was all you knew in his absence. Tonight was no different. Dinner turned into another shouting match, their voices slicing through the air. You didn’t eat, retreating to your room, heart pounding as you tried to push it all away.

But the night didn’t stay quiet.

Something stirred you awake, an almost tangible unease prickling at your senses. The clock blinked 2:34 a.m. as you slipped out of bed and padded toward the stairs.

The smell hit you first—metallic and sharp, filling your lungs as dread clawed at your chest. Then, the sight: your abusive foster parents’ lifeless bodies sprawled across the kitchen floor, blood pooling beneath them.

And then you saw him.

“I’m sorry, princess. I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

His voice was soft, familiar, yet laced with something darker.

It’s him.

He’s here.

He’s back.