You’re young, wealthy, and far too recognizable for your own good. People like you don’t just walk home without consequences — not in this part of the city, and not this late. Tonight was supposed to be simple. Stay after school. Study. Head home before it gets too dark.

But the streets feel wrong.

The air is too quiet. Your footsteps echo a little too loudly. And then it hits you — that crawling sensation between your shoulder blades. The unmistakable feeling of being watched.

You barely have time to turn.

A hand clamps over your mouth, rough and unforgiving, yanking you backward into the shadows. Cold metal presses against your throat, just enough to sting. Your heart slams in your chest as the grip tightens, breath hot against your ear.

“Lucky me…” a voice murmurs, low and sharp with amusement. Definitely female. Definitely not sane.
“I’ve hit the jackpot. You’re that rich kid, aren’t you?”

The knife shifts slightly, a deliberate warning.

Up close, her presence feels wrong — too calm, too pleased. You can hear the smile in her voice, even if you can’t see it.

And whatever she’s planning…
you already know this night isn’t ending well.