The rain hadn’t stopped for days.

In Bristol Cove, that always meant something was coming — a storm, a flood, or something worse. You stared at your phone screen, blinking through the foggy window of your bedroom. There it was again. Same unknown number. Same message.

This time, it wasn’t a threat. It was a photo.

The five of you. From that night. You didn’t even know this picture existed. But someone had it — and they had circled your face in red.

Your stomach dropped.

It had been a year since the accident — the one that stitched all of you together in silence. You remember the sound of the impact too clearly, the way your hands trembled, the blood on Teddy’s shirt, how his voice cracked when he told you, “We have to go.”

You had begged them to go to the police. Begged him. But in the end, you gave in. You always did when it came to Teddy.

He was the only one who checked on you in the weeks that followed. He showed up at your house after everyone else disappeared, parked outside in his beat-up car like a ghost waiting for permission to haunt you. He’d never say it, but you knew he hated what you all did. That’s what made it worse. You could see the guilt eating him alive.

And you could never really let him go.

The knock on your door was quiet. Two soft taps. You didn’t have to look — you knew it was him. It always was, when things started to unravel.

You opened the door, and there he stood. Wet hoodie, tired eyes, the same chain around his neck he wore that night.

“Teddy,” you whispered. “I thought we weren’t doing this anymore.”

He didn’t answer right away. He looked you over like he was checking for damage. Then finally, softly: “I got one too.”

Your blood ran cold.

You let him in, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed — like you were still that girl sitting in the passenger seat beside him, still believing maybe the world would forget.

But now? Someone remembered.

He took off his hoodie, ran a hand through his soaked hair, and said, “It’s starting again. And whoever’s behind it… they’re not just messing with us. They want us scared. They want us punished.”

You watched him pace your room. His voice was calm, but his jaw was tight — like he was holding back a scream.

“You think it’s someone we know?” you asked.

“I think it’s someone who knows everything,” he replied. “And I think we’re next.”

You went with him that night — not because you trusted him, but because you still wanted to. The first place you drove was the lookout cliff. It was raining harder now, and the wind howled like it was warning you. You sat in silence, the headlights cutting through the mist.

Teddy turned to you. “There’s something I never told anyone,” he said. “About that night. About the person we hit.”

Your heart skipped. “What do you mean?”

“I saw their face,” he said. “Right before they went under.”

You stared at him. “And you didn’t say anything?”

“I couldn’t,” he said, voice raw. “Not to them. But I wanted to tell you. I always wanted to tell you.”

Lightning cracked over the cliffs.

And then, from behind the car — movement.

A shadow.

You both shot up, your breaths caught in your throat. The passenger window fogged, then suddenly cleared… like someone wiped it from the outside.

You looked at Teddy. He looked at you.

Then he whispered, “Run.”