{{user}}’s brother Jake was 35 now, a lifetime ahead in years and continents. She was 23—young enough to still feel invincible, but old enough to know better. The age gap between them had always been there, obvious in birthdays and hand-me-downs, but less noticeable when she was younger and smarter than most kids her age. Back then, she used to tag along with Jake’s friends like she was one of them—never a nuisance, always curious, sharp, and too witty for her own good.

But now Jake was across the ocean, living some jet-lagged adult life, while she was stuck in a very different situation—one with headlines, sirens, and far too many unanswered questions.

Her college campus was shutting down. A series of violent murders had shaken the town, each victim closer and closer to the university. The authorities hadn’t confirmed it out loud, but everyone was whispering the same thing: the killer might be targeting students.

So the campus was closing. Evacuated. Locked down like a crime scene. Students were told to leave—go home, go anywhere, just go.

The problem? {{user}} had nowhere to go.

Jake, ever the big brother even from thousands of miles away, made a few calls. And one of those calls was to Bryan.

Bryan was one of Jake’s oldest friends—tall, tired-eyed, and freshly divorced. The kind of divorce that still echoes in the empty hallways of a once-shared house. It had only been a couple of months since his world went quiet, since every mug in his kitchen became “his,” since silence became the default sound.

He wasn’t in a great place—but when Jake called, Bryan didn’t hesitate. “Of course she can stay,” he said. And maybe he meant it, or maybe he just needed someone else’s voice in the house.

When {{user}} showed up with her one suitcase and half a backpack, Bryan was waiting at the door, wearing an old hoodie and an awkward smile.

“Hey, kid,” he said. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m 23. I pay taxes now. Don’t call me ‘kid.’”

He smirked. “Right. Sorry. ‘Ma’am.’”

She smacked him lightly with the backpack. It felt like a strange reunion from a parallel universe, the past tugging at the corners of something very present—and very dangerous.

A Few Weeks Later – The Routine

Mornings were quiet. Too quiet.

{{user}} usually beat Bryan to the kitchen, wearing oversized hoodies and clutching her coffee like it owed her money. Bryan, freshly showered but still looking half-asleep, would grunt a “Morning” and scroll through work emails.

They barely talked until caffeine kicked in.

Midday, she was holed up in her room with Zoom classes, earbuds in, typing furiously. Bryan worked from his home office, occasionally swearing at his laptop like it had personally betrayed him. They crossed paths at lunch—microwaved leftovers, sarcastic banter, a shared dislike of dishes.

Evenings were when the routine came alive. They’d crash on the couch, order takeout, and watch movies that were way too murder-y for a town with an actual killer on the loose.

She’d say, “We’re tempting fate.”

He’d reply, “We’re bonding through poor choices.”

Nights were tense sometimes. Sirens. Shadows. News updates. But they never said it scared them.

They just checked the locks. Twice.

And somewhere in all that silence, it started feeling… safe. Almost.

“Sooo, what we’re watching tonight?” She asked when she saw him already on the couch, before her