The air was thick with the scent of evening rain as Shellie walked down the uneven pavement, her bag slung over one shoulder. The dim glow of streetlights flickered, casting long, distorted shadows on the ground.
For the past five days, she had felt the weight of unseen eyes. At first, she thought it was paranoia—her mind playing tricks after everything that had happened. But the feeling had grown stronger, more persistent.
Her heart thudded in her chest as she glanced over her shoulder. The street behind her was empty, silent except for the distant hum of traffic. Yet, the unease clung to her like a second skin.
She quickened her pace.
Scarlett's house wasn't far. Shellie knew she'd feel safer with Scarlett, the only person who had been her anchor through the chaos.
The feeling of being watched became unbearable. Her breaths came in shallow gasps as she broke into a jog, her sneakers slapping against the wet pavement. The shadows seemed to shift and stretch, almost alive.
By the time she reached Scarlett's door, she was trembling.
"Scarlett!" Shellie called out, her voice quivering as she jabbed the doorbell. She pressed it again and again, each ring more frantic than the last.
Inside, Scarlett's voice called back, calm and steady. "I'm coming!"
But Shellie couldn't stop. Her finger jabbed the button repeatedly, the shrill chime echoing in the quiet street.
Scarlett's footsteps approached, audible through the heavy wooden door.
"Shellie, I said I'm coming! What's wrong with y—"
The door creaked open, but before Scarlett could finish her sentence, the air split with a muffled scream.
Scarlett froze.
The door swung wide, revealing... nothing.
Her eyes darted from side to side, scanning the empty street. The rain had picked up again, a soft drizzle that blurred her vision.
"Shellie?" Scarlett called out, stepping onto the porch. The only sound was the rain pattering on the ground.
Her stomach twisted as she stepped off the porch and peered down the street. "Shellie, where are you?"
Nothing.
The pit in her stomach deepened as she returned to the doorway, her mind racing. Shellie's bag was gone. No phone. No sign of her.
Scarlett gritted her teeth and clenched her fists. Something wasn't right.
Somewhere far from the familiar streets, Shellie awoke to the sharp, sterile smell of antiseptic and cold metal. Her head throbbed, and her wrists ached from the tight restraints that bit into her skin.
"Where..." she mumbled, her voice hoarse.
Her eyes adjusted to the dim, flickering light above her. The room was small, lined with concrete walls. Chains rattled as she moved, her wrists bound to the arms of a metal chair.
Panic set in as the memories rushed back. The street. The shadows. The sudden grip that had yanked her into darkness.
She tugged at the restraints, but they didn't budge.
A faint creak echoed through the room, and she froze.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate.
Her breath hitched as the door creaked open, and a figure stepped inside.
"Good evening, Shellie," a voice drawled. It was low, almost friendly, but laced with an undercurrent of malice.
"Who are you? What do you want?" she demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempt to sound brave.
The figure stepped into the light, revealing a man with sharp features and a cruel smile.
"Let's just say," he began, "I'm here because someone wants you out of the way."
Shellie's stomach dropped. She thought of Samaira and the simmering hatred in her eyes.
"You've got the wrong person," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
"Oh, I don't think so," the man replied, his smile widening. "But don't worry. This isn't personal. It's just business."
Shellie's heart raced as he turned away, leaving her alone with her rising panic.
Back at Scarlett's house, the atmosphere was electric with tension. Scarlett paced the living room, her phone clutched tightly in her hand.
She had called Shellie's number a dozen times, each attempt met with silence.
"This doesn't make sense," Scarlett muttered, her mind cycling through possibilities.
A sudden thought struck her, and she dialed another number.
"Dellhey Campus Security," a voice answered.
"This is Scarlett Winston. I think something's happened to my friend Shellie Stillburg. She was at my house, but she disappeared before I could see her. You need to check the area," Scarlett said, her words spilling out in a rush.
The voice on the other end hesitated. "We'll send someone to look into it, ma'am."
But Scarlett could tell they weren't taking her seriously.
She hung up, frustration gnawing at her. If they wouldn't help, she'd have to do something herself.
Scarlett grabbed her jacket and stepped outside. The rain had stopped, but the streets were slick and glistening under the faint glow of streetlights. She retraced the path Shellie would have taken, scanning every corner, every shadow for clues.
Her determination burned brighter than her fear.
"I'll find you, Shellie," Scarlett whispered into the night.
Meanwhile, in the concrete room, Shellie's mind raced. She didn't know who this man was or what his endgame might be, but she knew one thing for certain: she had to survive.
As she sat there, bound and helpless, her thoughts drifted to Scarlett.
"Please," she whispered to herself, tears stinging her eyes. "Find me."
Unbeknownst to Shellie, Scarlett was already on her trail. But the path ahead was dark, twisted, and filled with dangers neither of them could foresee.