The figure led her through backstreets, avoiding the flickering lamplight.
"I've seen the cab before," the guide whispered. "It feeds on fear. It loops its victims into nothing. Most… never leave."
Amara's stomach twisted. "Why me?"
The guide shook their head. "It doesn't matter. You have to keep moving. You're being hunted."
Every reflective surface they passed showed distorted versions of Amara—faces twisted, shadows reaching, whispers calling her name.
Finally, the guide paused in front of an abandoned subway entrance.
"This is the only place it can't follow… for now."