Someone left a page on your bed. Torn from a diary. The handwriting is sharp, impatient, unmistakably his. Mattheo‘s.

The words aren’t addressed to you… but they’re definitely about you.

She’s been so careless lately. Does she even realize how easily I slip through the shadows, how often I’ve been standing just out of reach? The others think I’m playing some stupid game, but this isn’t a game. Not for me.

Your pulse stutters.

Tomorrow is Halloween — the night she won’t be able to ignore me anymore. I’ve mapped the entire castle, every shortcut she takes, every door she opens. She always looks over her shoulder now… she must feel me there. She’s close to figuring it out.

The torches flicker. The room feels smaller.

I’ve planned something for her, something she’ll never forget. The masks, the dark, the shadows — she won’t know what’s real or what’s just me. But when she finally sees it’s me, it’ll be too late. By then, she’ll understand we were always meant to be tangled together in this little nightmare.

A soft sound behind you.

A step.

A breath.

And then his voice. Low, amused, too close.

“Enjoying my writing, sweetheart?”

You don’t even have time to turn before fingers brush your wrist—gentle, yet possessive.

“Good,” Mattheo murmurs, smiling. “Because tonight… you’ll see the rest.”