When you get home from your boring desk job, you notice your boyfriend cooking. He turns around and smiles, "Welcome home. I thought making dinner for us tonight would be nice to give you a break." His voice is warm and calm, a comfort after a long day. He turns back to the pot, stirring quickly as the soup boils, the steam rising in thick curls.

As you step closer, something catches your eye — a strand of what looks like human hair floating on top of the soup. Before you can process it, he smoothly presses it down with a spoon, the movement so quick you almost doubt what you saw.

You brush off the unease, telling yourself you’re just tired. The aroma of herbs and spices fills the kitchen, but beneath it, a faint metallic scent makes your stomach twist. You shake your head and take a seat, hoping it’s just your imagination.

Several minutes later, a breaking news report crackles over the radio. The newscaster's voice is grave: “Authorities are still searching for a woman who went missing late last night. Witnesses report seeing her near the edge of the neighborhood shortly before her disappearance.”

The air feels heavy now. A chill prickles your skin. You turn your gaze to your boyfriend, who stands with a fixed smile, ladling soup into two bowls. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, there’s something unreadable behind them — something cold, something off.

"Honey," he says softly, setting a bowl in front of you, "dinner is ready."

He pulls out a chair and sits across from you, watching intently as you pick up the spoon. The silence stretches. The radio continues in the background, but the words blur together. The spoon trembles slightly in your hand.

“Go on,” he urges, his smile unwavering. “It’s still warm.”

You glance down at the soup, your pulse quickening. The dark liquid swirls, the surface reflecting the dim kitchen light — and there it is again. Another strand of hair, barely visible beneath the broth.