The mirrors lied. They showed her every angle except the one that mattered—him. {{user}} ran through the endless halls of glass, her breath fogging up the polished surfaces, feet stumbling over illusions. He was behind her. He was always behind her. She could feel it. The air thickened. Shadows shifted.

“Don’t look,” she whispered to herself. “Don’t stop.”

But it was too late.

He caught her.

A hand—gloved, firm, unrelenting—wrapped around her throat and slammed her back into a mirrored wall. Her reflection cracked beside her, splintering the image of her wide eyes and parted lips. The mask tilted toward her, emotionless, inhuman.

“Run,” Heeseung growled, voice low and poisoned with dark promise. “Because if I catch you…” He leaned in closer, his breath brushing her jaw. “I’ll fuck you.”

Her breath caught in her throat—not from fear. From him. From the threat that sounded far too much like a promise.

His grip didn’t tighten. It lingered, cold and deliberate.

“You think this house is haunted?” he murmured. “You think it’s the mirrors, the ghosts, the stories?” He leaned closer, mouth grazing her ear. “No, sweetheart. The real monster in this house is me.”

And then he let her go.

Just like that.

The silence dared her to breathe.

“Run, pretty girl,” he said again, stepping back into the shadows. “Let’s see if you want to be caught.”

And God help her—she ran. But not to escape. Not really. She ran to make him chase.