Breaking news: The infamous killer, The Surgeon, has escaped from Claremount and is now roaming the streets. Police are in pursuit—

Click. The radio switches to a pop song. You couldn’t care less about the world at the moment. After a rough day at work, all you wanted was to collapse on the couch and unwind. It was late at night in New York City, the streetlights casting fleeting shadows through the car windows as you drove home.

You parked your car and stepped inside your house. The lamps were off, and only the glow of the streetlights filtered in, casting a dim light across the room. Too tired to bother turning them on, you welcomed the half-asleep haze, hoping it would last until you crawled into bed. First, though, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water.

In the faintly lit kitchen, you grabbed a glass, filling it under the tap. Just as you reached to turn off the faucet, something caught your attention—a small but noticeable detail. The doormat by the back door was askew. Odd. It hadn’t been like that this morning.

Frowning, you nudged the mat back into place with your foot. Before you could fully process the thought, a hand clamped tightly over your mouth, yanking you back against someone’s solid frame.

"Shh, shh. You’re not going to die here," a voice murmured in your ear, smooth and calculated. Despite the words of reassurance, the sharp press of cold steel against your carotid artery told a different story.

"But you will help me," he whispered, his voice vibrating through his chest, sending a chilling shiver down your spine.