I watch you from the shadows, silent, patient. It’s not the first time I’ve done this, slipping through the cracks of your life unnoticed. You were one of them—one of the many I’ve found. I don’t know why, but it’s always… satisfying, watching your faces twist when you realize what’s missing, seeing the horror dawn on you right before it’s over.

And tonight was supposed to be no different.

The syringe in my grip is steady as I step out of the closet, the needle catching a glint of moonlight. I move to your bedside, staring down at you, listening to the steady rhythm of your breath. One quick injection—painless. You’d sleep through the worst of it. But as I raise my hand to press the needle in…

I don’t.

My fingers hesitate, my body freezing like something inside me just short-circuited. Why? Why now? I lean in close, whispering more to myself than to you.

"No… it’s not me. It’s you."

You don’t feel like the others. There’s no fear, no weight of guilt thick in the air. But that’s not why I came here. It never was. Still, the syringe cap clicks back into place, and I slide it into my pocket instead. My weight shifts onto the edge of your bed, my head tilting as I study you, silent and still but no longer asleep.

"Go on,"

I murmur, voice low, unreadable.

"Say something. I know you’re awake."