CHAPTER 1
The elevator chimed as the doors opened, revealing Maya stepping out with her usual determined attitude, ready to win any argument or finish any fight she didn't initiate. The night was supposed to be simple: retrieve her forgotten tablet from the conference room, leave before the storm worsened, and pretend the week hadn't been a string of disasters.Naturally, he was here. Jason Hart. Her rival. Her headache. Her boss's favorite "brilliant, brooding strategist." The one person who consistently knew how to ruffle her feathers. He stood at the far end of the floor, sleeves rolled up, tie loose, studying quarterly projections as if the building's rainstorm outside wasn't shaking its glass walls. Fantastic. Just what she needed—Jason in a bad mood, late at night, alone in his office. She tried to pass him silently. "Forgot something?" His voice was deep, smooth, and confidently irritating. She didn't turn. "Not talking to you." "You say that a lot." He smiled, she could hear it. Maya paused halfway to the conference room. "Jason, I swear, if you start—" "I'm not starting." He advanced slowly, deliberately. "You came back for your tablet. Relax." "I am relaxed," she snapped, clutching her bag tighter. "You're always relaxed," he teased. "Except around me." She turned to face him. "Trust me, you don't have that kind of effect." He raised an eyebrow, looking at her with that infuriating, unreadable expression he always had."If you say so." Her pulse quickened. Hated how he looked at her—like he saw through every lie she told herself, like he knew why she avoided being alone with him. "Why are you even here?" she asked, crossing her arms. "Shouldn't you be home terrorizing someone else?" "The boss wanted the projections tonight," he replied simply. "I stayed to finish them." "We both know you could complete them in your sleep." "Maybe I didn't want to go home yet." Something in his tone made her hesitate—perhaps tiredness or hurt behind it. But Jason never shared anything real. Not with her, not with anyone. "Look," she said, softening slightly, "I'm just grabbing my—" The lights flickered, then everything went pitch dark. A thunderclap split the sky, shaking the building. Maya's breath caught. "Jason?" Her voice broke into the darkness. "I'm right here." His voice was close now—much closer. Emergency lights cast a dim, warm glow, revealing Jason just inches away. She hadn't even heard him move. Her heart pounded. He wasn't smirking or teasing. He looked at her as if she was the only real thing in the room. "Are you okay?" he asked. "Fine," she lied. Lightning lit up the skyline again, making her flinch—he noticed. "You hate storms," he said softly. "You don't know what I hate." His gaze briefly dropped to her lips. "Maya, I know more than you think." Her pulse raced. "Back off." Jason took a measured step forward. "The elevator's down. The entire building probably locked itself automatically. Looks like we're stuck here for a while." She exhaled sharply. "Great." "It's not that bad." "Oh, because being trapped with you during a blackout is your idea of fun?" He tilted his head. "Could be yours too, if you'd stop fighting every second of this." "Every second of what?" "This," he said quietly. "Whatever this is between us." She opened her mouth but couldn't speak. "Jason…" Lightning flashed brightly and quickly, startling her. She hated storms—had for years. But she hated that Jason knew even more. "Come on," he murmured. "You don't have to pretend with me." "I'm not—" He moved closer, slow enough for her to step back if she wanted—but she didn't. His hand brushed hers—a quiet, deliberate touch. Heat surged through her. "Don't," she whispered. He didn't step away. "Tell me you don't want me to." Rain hammered the skylights above, loud enough to drown her heartbeat. She smelled his cologne—warm, clean, tempting. She shouldn't want this—not with him, not ever. But the truth burned inside her: she wanted him too much—and he knew it. "Jason…" Her voice wavered, soft and shaken. His hand moved from her fingers to her waist, warm and steady. Her body responded before her mind could protest—leaning into his touch, into his heat. "You drive me insane," she whispered. "Good." His breath brushed her cheek. "Then we're even." Her chest heaved rapidly. One more inch and she'd be kissing him. One more breath and she'd stop pretending. A thunderclap shook the glass, and she gasped— instinctively stepping into him. He caught her easily, steadying her lower back with his hand. Their bodies pressed together, breath to breath, heartbeat to heartbeat. The tension snapped. "Maya," he whispered, his forehead resting against hers, "stop fighting me." She closed her eyes. For once, she wanted to. But then— A sharp, mechanical click echoed from the hallway. Power surged back, and bright lights filled the room. They froze. Maya tore herself free from him, breathless, cheeks flushed. "No," she said quickly. "We're not—this isn't—" Jason straightened, jaw tight, chest heaving. "So that's it? We ignore what just happened?" "It was the storm," she said too quickly. "That's all." "Maya—" "I have to go." She grabbed her tablet, shoved it into her bag, and headed for the elevator. Jason didn't stop her, but she felt his gaze on her back the entire way. When she stepped inside, the doors began closing. Just before they sealed completely, she heard his low, certain, dangerous voice: "This isn't over." A shiver ran down her spine. Deep down, she knew he was right.
CHAPTER 2
The elevator doors dinged open and Maya stepped into the lobby, breathing heavily — though the air felt unchanged. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the walls and floor harmlessly still. Nothing about the polished marble or the plush waiting chairs betrayed the turmoil she felt inside.
She could still feel his heat. Still hear the echo of his whisper against her cheek. "Stop fighting me."
She pressed her back to the cool metal wall, bag still slung across her shoulder. Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure anyone nearby could hear it.Yet the lobby was empty — no late‑night janitors, no visitors, no sign she had come in with someone else.
Maya took a slow, shaky breath. That night never happened, she repeated in her head, over and over. It was the storm. It was the blackout. It was nothing.
She turned to leave — but froze when a voice behind her whispered low and urgent.
"Waiting for me?" It was Jason.
Her stomach dropped. She should have rushed out the door and gone home, but she didn't. She couldn't.
"You scared me," she said, almost a whisper.
His eyes flicked away for a moment, glancing at the glass doors. "Not as much as you scared me."
Maya ignored the implication. "I'm leaving."
He took a step forward. "Maya."
She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze. "Don't."
He hesitated, jaw tight. The tension coiled in the space between them like electricity ready to strike again.
"You can't walk out of this like it never happened," he said — quietly — but with an edge.
She swallowed, anger flaring inside her. Anger she directed at herself more than him. At her weakness. Her body. Her pounding pulse.
"I don't want to deal with that conversation," she said harshly.
"Suit yourself," he said, turning away. His shoulders were loose, casual — an act.
Maya walked past the building's glass entrance, stepping onto the slick pavement. The rain had stopped; the city lights reflected on the wet road in golden ripples. She should have felt relief, calm. Instead, she felt hollow, like she had left something vital behind.
The next morning, office lights buzzed, computers hummed, and the usual chaos of deadlines and demands swallowed everything. But for Maya, nothing felt normal.
When she walked into the conference room for the morning meeting, the chairs around the big mahogany table looked sharper, colder somehow. Files lay stacked neatly, printouts clipped and aligned. Everyone took their seats. No one mentioned the blackout, the elevator, or the soaked city outside. It was as if nothing had happened. As if it couldn't have.
Then Jason came in. He opened the door quietly and paused at the threshold. His eyes met hers across the room.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to just her and him.
She pinched her lips tight, reminding herself to breathe.
The meeting began. Voices droned about numbers, percentages, projections. But Maya barely followed. Her mind kept drifting back — to the press of his body, the weight of his gaze, the storm, the dark.
At lunch, she sat alone at her desk, hunched over an empty sandwich wrapper. She stared at the wrapper until the edges blurred. On impulse, she opened her laptop and went to the blank document titled "Chapter Two — Storm Between Us."
Her fingers hovered over the keys. She thought about what happened. About what didn't happen. About what almost did.
"Are you okay?" came a voice.
She nearly jumped.
Looking up, she found Jason standing next to her desk, leaning with one shoulder against the partition. His expression was unreadable: calm, collected. Dangerous.
She closed the laptop. "Yes."
He didn't move. For a moment, the office dissolved around them. It was just them, inches apart, heat still crackling between.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
She shook her head. "No."
His lips curved slightly. "You can't avoid me just by ignoring me."
Her pulse hammered again. "I'm not ignoring you."
He took a step closer. "Then what are you doing?"
She stared past him, at the blank wall behind. "I'm living."
"Living," he repeated softly — like a question. "Without closure?"
She didn't answer.
He nodded — slow, deliberate — then tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. "Fine." He turned away. "But if you change your mind…"
She didn't look back.
That night, Maya sat in her small, rented apartment — the city lights through the window flickering like distant storms she couldn't reach. She opened the document again. The page was blank, mocking her.
She typed a line. Deleted it. Typed another. Deleted again.
The words wouldn't come. Not real ones, not from her.
Frustrated, she closed the laptop and stood. She moved to the window, fingers tracing the cool glass. Outside, everything was calm. People passed by, cars hummed, the world kept turning. Life moved on.
But inside her, something shifted. A memory — the press of strong arms against her back, the breath on her neck, the way his words had sounded, soft yet commanding. A memory she couldn't decide to forget or keep.
She leaned against the glass and let her eyes close.
She should push him away. She should forget him. She'd told herself that a thousand times.
But what if… what if she didn't?
Her phone buzzed. A message from an unknown number. She frowned and pressed to open.
"Lunch tomorrow? 12:30. Conference Room B. — J"
Her breath caught. She stared at the screen.
She didn't know whether to delete it or reply.
She slipped the phone into her pocket and walked away from the window.
A storm had passed. But she could already feel the thunder rolling back in.
The next day at 12:25 p.m., she pushed open the door to Conference Room B. The sunlight streamed through the blinds, casting sharp stripes of light across the table. Papers were scattered, take‑out containers half‑open. Coffee mugs warmed the air with bitterness and heat.
She saw him sitting at the head of the table — slouched casually, one leg over the other, a pen in hand and a single sheet of paper before him. The air smelled faintly of coffee and lingering rain.
He looked up when she entered. His smile wasn't warm. It was loaded. Expectant.
"Glad you came," he said softly.
Her heart thudded. She wondered if she'd regret opening the door.
"Why am I here?" she asked.
He pushed the paper toward her. "A project. A small freelance write‑up I can't trust anyone else with." His eyes caught hers. "Because you've got… the touch."
Maya stared at the paper. Somewhere between the lines, categories, deliverables, he dropped the weight of his gaze again — heavy, demanding.
"You want me to ghostwrite for you?" she asked, skeptical.
He nodded. "And for once, I want you — not me — to call the shots."
She looked up, confusion and something darker swirling in her chest. "What's the catch?"
"Just one," he said. "Keep showing up. On time. No drama… except the kind we already create."
A shiver traveled through her. Not from fear. From anticipation.
She hesitated. Then she nodded.
As she turned the paper over, Jason lifted his pen and set it beside the cup. He didn't raise his eyes.
But she felt it — that look. That promise. That threat.
The silence settled. The blinds swayed with the breeze from the open window. Outside, the city moved on.
Inside, something between them shifted — a new kind of storm brewing.
And this time, Maya decided she wouldn't run.
CHAPTER 3
Maya hovered just inside the entrance of the office, the morning sunlight sliding across the lobby's polished floor. Her phone vibrated in her bag. A new message. She almost didn't check it — the memory of last night still burned in her mind — but her curiosity won.
The message was simple:
"Meet me — 5:30 PM. My office." — J
Her pulse fluttered at the sight. She didn't know what to feel. Intrigue? Alarm? A little of both.
She slid the phone into her pocket and forced herself to walk to her desk, carrying a neutral mask. Work started as usual: emails, meetings, deadlines. But everything felt distorted, like she was watching the world through tinted glass. Her coworkers talked around her. She answered yes and no without really hearing. Her laptop screen blurred as her mind replayed the storm, the blackout, his words.
At lunch, she locked herself in the break room to escape — or maybe to collect her thoughts. She pressed her back against the cool tile wall and hugged her arms around herself.
Why did he want to see me? she wondered. Is this business … or something else?
She remembered how his eyes flickered — dangerous, demanding, full of that challenge she'd tried so hard to ignore.
When the clock finally crawled to 5:15 PM, she closed her laptop deliberately, gave one deep breath — and left. The night air was humid, heavy, but somehow the warmth hit her like a promise. She told herself it was just business.
She made her way to Jason's office, each step echoing in the silent hallway. Outside his door, she stopped. Her heart hammered in her chest.
She knocked once. Then twice.
"Come in," his voice said — low, controlled.
Inside, the office lights were soft, casting gentle shadows across the room. Rain tapped quietly at the windows, a soft, rhythmic lullaby. He stood by the large desk, arms crossed, watching her with that same unreadable expression.
"Sit down," he said, pointing to the chair opposite him.
Maya lowered herself slowly. The quiet between them stretched, thick and heavy.
He slid a file across the desk. Her name was on it — bold letters.
"This," Jason began, voice calm, "is a proposal. A side project I need you for." He paused, his eyes locking with hers. "But I want you to be completely honest.With me … and with yourself."
She flipped the file open. It was a marketing pitch. A brand launch. Client brief. Deadline: two weeks. Incentives: high pay, bonuses, discretion.
"Why me?" she asked.
He leaned back, folding his hands. "Because you're good. Because you think like me." The words came smooth, almost casual. Then his gaze softened slightly, shadows dancing in his eyes. "Because I need someone I can trust — someone who knows how to deliver under pressure."
She studied him, fighting the sudden rush of heat. "Is this … a real project? Or is this just a test?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and walked around the desk slowly, each step deliberate. When he reached beside her chair, he lowered his voice. "You tell me," he said, quiet but grave. "Because either way … things will get complicated."
Maya closed the file. Her mind spun. Professionalism. Opportunity. Danger. Desire. Her inner voice screamed at her to walk away. But part of her — a dark, whispering part — wondered if this was what she wanted.
"I'll do it," she said softlyBut on one condition.
"Name it," he replied without hesitation.
"You don't get to … use this to … whatever this is between us." Her voice shook for a moment, betraying the fear she tried to hide. "Keep it business."
He paused. Then gave a slow curt nod. "Business."
They shook on it. Hands cold, eyes simmering, unspoken electricity between them.
She left the office with the file tucked under her arm, rain still tapping softly against the windows. Outside, the night air hit her cheeks. She closed her eyes, letting the chaos swirl behind the blur of city lights.
When she opened them again — her phone lit up. A new message, from a contact she didn't recognize.
"They know. Meet me — rooftop. Now." — Unknown
Her blood went cold. Questions flooded her. How did they know? Who messaged her? Was it a warning — or a threat?
Across the city, thunder rumbled in the distance.
Maya barely heard it.
But her body froze.
CHAPTER 4
Maya stepped into the lobby just after 5:00 p.m., the scent of rain still lingering on her coat. The building felt different now — familiar walls, familiar lights, but everything charged. Her phone buzzed in her bag: a reminder of the project file she'd signed for. She inhaled deeply, steadying herself, and headed up to Jason's office.
She knocked softly.
"Come in," his voice called.
Inside, the office was dimmed; blinds partially closed, the glow of city lights dimly filtering through the glass. Jason sat at the desk, leaning forward, eyes intense. The file lay open, documents neatly spread. "Good — you came," he said. "We start tonight."
She swallowed. "Tonight?"
He nodded. "Client timeline. Midnight submission."
Her heart sank a little — this meant long hours together, side by side. But she didn't protest. Instead she sat, pulled her coat close for a moment, then opened the file.
They worked in silence at first — the soft click of keyboard keys, the tap of pages turning, only the city hum beyond the glass windows breaking the sound barrier of silence. With each minute, tension tightened between them — not the messy, angry tension of their rivalry, but something slow, charged, electric.
At 8:23 p.m., Maya leaned back, rubbing her temples. "We need more on brand voice," she murmured. "The tone is too … corporate. It needs heat. Emotion."
Jason's gaze drifted to her. "Heat?"
She frowned. "Yes. The brief says lifestyle — bold, relatable, intimate. Not stiff."
He moved around the desk and stood behind her. The warmth of his body was close, a breath from her ear. "Show me what you mean."
Without thinking, she reached for the paper on the other side of the desk — a draft she had started. She flipped it over, sliding it gently toward him. His fingers brushed hers as he took the page. The light fell over his face, half-shadowed. His eyes darkened as he read.
"This," he said quietly after a moment, "this is raw. Real. Fix the rest like this."
She swallowed, not sure if it was the compliment — or how close he was.
They worked again, but now the air felt different. It buzzed. Every keyboard stroke echoed. Thoughts ran hot.
At 10:09 p.m., Maya yawned, leaning forward. "We should call it a night. I'm done."
Jason exhaled slowly. He didn't look away from her. "We aren't done. Not yet."
Her fingers froze. She lifted her eyes just enough to catch his. For a second — seconds — the rest of the world fell away.
The lights dimmed, then flickered. A sudden power surge knocked out the lights; city noise fell silent; only the soft hum in the air hinted at life outside.
Maya's breath caught. She flicked the overhead switch, but nothing happened. The emergency lights glowed faintly.
Jason reached over, grabbing a lamp from the side table — its weak glow casting soft shadows on the wall. He placed it on the desk carefully, the lamp's warm light bouncing off the glass window behind them.
"Better," he muttered softly.
Maya's pulse hammered. She shut the laptop — no risk of data loss under weak light. She watched him, looking more real than ever: the warm glow highlighting his profile, the set of his jaw, the tension in his stance.
"You're going to stay until this is done?" he asked quietly.
Her throat felt dry. "Do you… always push until the last moment?"
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stood and moved so that his body blocked hers from the rest of the room. The city lights behind him, the faint hum of distant traffic below — everything made the moment pulse.
"Not always," he said. "Just when it matters."
She swallowed again. Everything in her told her to stand up, walk away, protect her heart, protect her head. But another voice — darker, deeper — told her to stay. To trust the moment.
The lamp flickered again, and in that flicker she saw something. Not the hard rival. Not the cold businessman. A man who breathed. Who cared. Who waited.
Her eyes searched his. They swallowed the distance — a short breath, an inhale.
He reached out, fingers brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it gently behind her ear. The motion slow, deliberate. Careful. Intimate.
She shut her eyes. For a heartbeat — a singular, terrible, beautiful heartbeat — she leaned forward.
"Stop," she whispered.
He froze. The lamp's light fluttered softly across them. Outside, a distant horn sounded. Maybe a car. Maybe a night bird. Night noises.
"You always push," she muttered, tone soft but firm. "I'm not your plan B. Not your fallback when inspiration strikes."
His jaw tightened, but his eyes didn't leave hers. "I'm not asking," he said quietly.
Maya closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. She straightened, folding her arms across her chest. Distance returned — or so she told herself.
"I need to finish this tomorrow," she said. "At home."
He didn't argue. Instead, he nodded, sliding the stack of papers toward her. "Fine."
She gathered her things. The lamp glowed softly on the desk — a single sentinel in the dark room.
As she turned, he said softly, "Good night, Maya."
She didn't look back as she left the office. The elevator ride down felt long. Her heart raced, thoughts jumbled. She forced herself to focus on the project, on the pitch, on work. Anything but him.
At her apartment, she closed the door gently behind her. She leaned against it for a long moment — breathing in the silence. But the night was heavy. Memory strong.
Her phone buzzed on the table. A new message. She hesitated, then opened it.
"Check your email. I sent some changes. — J"
Her breath caught. The message glowed softly on the screen. She stared at it, chest tight, mind chaotic.
She didn't reply.
She sat on the edge of her bed, lamp beside her showing soft light. Outside the window, the city lights blurred in the rain-slick streets.
And in her mind, two words echoed louder than anything else: risk … and promise.
CHAPTER 5
Maya stared at the screen, the soft glow of her laptop lighting only half her face. Outside the window, the city was quiet — late‑night lights blinking like distant stars, rain-slick streets shimmering beneath the moon. She'd accepted Jason's project. But as she reviewed the brief, dread curled at the back of her throat.
He had asked for bold, raw emotion. For heat. For honesty. But as her fingers hovered over the keyboard, Maya realized she didn't just need to write the words — she needed to feel them. And feeling them meant facing danger beyond the project.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing. This wasn't just business anymore. Not for him. Not for her. There was something deeper — a gravity she couldn't ignore.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number flashed on the screen:
"You don't know what you signed up for."
Her heart stopped.
She jumped at the second message, a call this time. She ignored it. Hands trembling, she locked the phone and sat back, her eyes dark with warning.
Just then, a knock at the door.
"Late night again?" Jason's voice came from the doorway.
Maya froze. The screen dimmed in the room's low light. She dropped the phone on the table, and turned slowly.
"What — what are you doing here?" she asked, breath catching.
He stepped inside, eyes wary. Closing the door behind him, he walked to the window and peered out into the night. "I saw your building car outside. Figured you might be here."
Her pulse spiked. "You followed me?" she whispered, voice shaky.
He didn't meet her eyes. "I wanted to make sure you were safe."
She clenched her fists. "I don't need protection. I need space."
He nodded slowly. "I get that. But this," he gestured at the laptop, the dim room, the stack of papers — "this thing we have going … it's not just business anymore."
Something in his tone, low and real, loosened something inside her. But she shoved it back down.
"Don't make it more complicated," she said quietly.
He came closer — close enough that she could hear his breathing, smell his cologne, feel the tension between them. "Complicated isn't the problem," he said softly. "Avoiding what you want is."
Heat burned in her chest. She looked away. "I want my work to be clean. Separate from this … whatever this is."
His jaw tightened. For a moment, she thought he'd protest — or kiss her — but instead he turned, moving to the desk. He picked up the papers, stepped aside, his body blocking hers from rapid reach. "Then finish the work," he said. "Submit it by midnight. After that … we see where we stand."
She nodded, unable to trust her voice.
Jason left. The door clicked. Silence wrapped around her.
Maya exhaled slowly, closing her eyes. Outside, a distant thunder grumbled — a low warning from a sky renewing its storm.
She forced herself to work. Paragraph after paragraph, she poured emotion, heat, longing into the words. But every line felt heavier, dragging at something inside her — memory, regret, desire. She paused at the last page. The cursor blinked at the end of the document as though waiting for a final confession.
She saved the draft. Then closed her laptop.
When she opened her eyes again — the phone glowed in her hand. Another message from the unknown number:
"Last warning. Walk away before it's too late."
Maya stared at the screen. Her chest tightened. She didn't know whether to be scared — or furious.
For a long moment, she considered ignoring it. Deleting the message. Pretending it never came.
But then she thought of Jason. Of his voice, calm and firm. His promise of "we see where we stand."
She locked the message, stood up, and paced the room. Rain began to hammer the roof again. The city lights danced across the walls.
She tucked the laptop and phone into her bag. With one look at the window, she left her apartment.
The night air was cold, sharp — harsh against her skin. But inside, she felt nothing. Except the storm rising again.
Down the street, where buildings crowded and lights flickered, Maya spotted a lone figure leaning against a lamppost. In the dim glow, she recognized him: Jason. His silhouette sharp, watchful, like a sentinel waiting.
Her heart raced. She hesitated — then walked toward him
He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just watched her approach.
"Why are you out here?" she asked, voice trembling.
He raised one brow, lips curved in that half‑smile that infuriated and intrigued her. "Because I told you — I don't walk away."
She stopped a few feet from him, rain dripping from the hem of her jacket. The streetlights painted long shadows across the empty sidewalk.
"What do you want?" she whispered.
He reached out, but didn't touch her. Just let his fingers hover near hers. "To keep you safe. To keep us alive."
Fear and longing collided inside her chest — messy, tangled. She wanted to push him away. Hard. But something deeper — ache, hope, danger — pulled her forward.
She closed the distance. One step. Then another.
Before she realized it, she was staring into his eyes — candles of storm and promise.
And she didn't look away.
He exhaled slowly. "Stay with me tonight."
Her heart jerked. The thunder from above rolled in again — closer this time.
She nodded.
The city held its breath.
Because what was about to happen between them would be more than words on a page — it would be fire.
CHAPTER 6
Rain trailed down the edges of Jason's black SUV as he opened the passenger door for her. The street was empty, washed clean by the storm, but Maya still felt the weight of unseen eyes tracking her. Jason didn't speak while she slid inside, but his jaw tightened the moment he closed the door and circled to the driver's seat.
The silence between them pulsed.
Once the engine hummed to life, he drove through the slick streets, city lights throwing silver stripes across his face. Maya watched him from the corner of her eye — the way he gripped the wheel, the way he kept looking at the mirrors. Protective. Tense. Focused. More than he should be for someone who claimed this was just business.
"Jason," she whispered, fingers twisting in her lap. "Who do you think is sending those messages?"
His jaw flexed. "Someone who thinks they know you."
A beat.
"Or someone who thinks they know me."
A cold shiver slid down her spine.
He didn't elaborate. And she didn't ask. Some truths were better uncovered slowly — or not at all.
The elevator in his building opened into a vast, dimly lit penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the storm outside. Thunder rolled through the sky like an angry beast, echoing in the spacious room.
Maya stepped inside carefully. The place smelt like cedar and clean steel — expensive, but lived in. Jason shut the door behind them, his presence filling the space like heat.
"You're safe here," he said quietly.
She wasn't sure if that was supposed to comfort her or warn her.
He shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of a chair. Drops of rain slid down his hair, darkening the strands. Maya's throat tightened as she realised she was staring.
Jason noticed.
His gaze dropped to her soaked jacket. "You're freezing."
He walked closer, slow and deliberate. "Take this off before you get sick."
She hesitated — a small, stubborn refusal to let him take control. But her fingers trembled as she unzipped her jacket, and Jason stepped in.
"Here," he murmured.
He brushed her hands aside, sliding the jacket off her shoulders with a gentleness that contradicted the storm raging outside — and the one building between them. His touch burnt through the thin fabric of her top, sending a tremor through her arms.
Maya swallowed hard.
"This doesn't change anything," she said.
He lifted a brow. "Doesn't it?"
Her breath hitched.
Jason moved past her and disappeared into a hallway. Moments later, he returned with a thick grey blanket.
"Sit," he instructed softly.
She sat on the edge of the couch. He draped the blanket over her shoulders. His fingers grazed the side of her neck — just barely — but it was enough to make her pulse leap.
"Jason…" she whispered.
He looked at her then — really looked.
Not like a boss.
Not like a client.
Not like a man passing through her life.
But like someone terrified of losing something he never had the right to want.
"Maya," he said carefully, "what happened earlier—the texts, the warnings—they're not random."
She stiffened. "You know who it is."
He didn't deny it.
"Tell me."
Jason exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "It's complicated."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one I have until I'm sure."
She stood, letting the blanket slip from her shoulders. "Jason, am I in danger because of you?"
He stepped forward instantly, tension slashing across his face. "No. Absolutely not."
"But you hesitated."
He closed the distance between them with two slow steps. She backed up until her spine met the cold glass of the window. His shadow fell over her, tall and steady, his eyes locked onto hers.
"I hesitated," he said quietly, "because I don't know how to protect you without crossing the line I promised myself I wouldn't cross."
Her breath caught. "What line?"
His gaze dropped to her lips. "This one."
Heat flared through her, fierce and blinding. She didn't move. Couldn't.
He braced one hand against the window beside her head, caging her in a space that felt too small, too intimate. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside her — loud, heavy, and impossible to ignore.
"Jason…" Her voice cracked, weak and wanting.
His forehead brushed hers. "Tell me to stop."
She didn't.
Lightning split the sky, throwing pale light across their faces. Jason's breath shivered against her cheek — warm, soft, dangerous.
Then his phone buzzed.
He froze. She felt him tense instantly, like a predator who sensed a trap.
Maya whispered, "Who is it?"
He pulled the phone out slowly.
The screen lit his face. And for the first time since she met him, real fear flashed in his eyes.
Maya's heart slammed against her ribs. "Jason…?"
He swallowed hard.
"It's the same number," he said.
The text read:
"She shouldn't be there. You're putting her in the middle."
Maya's stomach dropped.
"In the middle of what?"
Before he could answer, the phone buzzed again.
A second message.
Shorter.
Sharper.
"Check your window."
Maya's blood turned to ice.
Jason's head jerked toward the glass behind her. His hand tightened around his phone, jaw clenching.
Slowly — painfully slowly — Maya turned around.
And there, across the building opposite, framed in a glowing window…
A silhouette stood.
Watching them.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Waiting.
The thunder rolled again, louder than before.
Jason grabbed her hand. "Get away from the window."
Maya stumbled back, heart pounding, breath shaking. She didn't dare look again.
Jason locked the curtains with shaking hands. "This isn't about the project anymore."
She stared at him, fear slicing through her. "Then what is it about?"
Jason's eyes lifted to hers — dark, haunted.
"Maya…"
His voice cracked.
"There's something you need to know about me."
The storm outside went completely silent, as if the world itself waited for his next words.
But Jason never got the chance to speak.
The lights went out.
Black.
Total darkness.
CHAPTER 7
Darkness swallowed the room.
Not soft darkness.
Not peaceful.
But a suffocating, electric black that felt alive — too alive.
Maya froze, breath trapped in her throat. Her fingers twitched at her sides, reaching for something, anything, to hold onto. But the only thing she sensed was the rapid thumping of her own pulse.
Then a warm hand caught hers.
Jason.
His grip was firm, grounding her even as the storm outside fell into an unnatural silence.
"Don't move," he whispered.
His voice was low and controlled, but something beneath it — something she'd never heard from him — trembled faintly.
Fear.
She swallowed hard. "Is this… them?"
"I don't know yet."
A pause.
"But it's not a coincidence."
His thumb brushed her knuckles, steady and gentle, even as everything around them spun into chaos. The penthouse, usually glowing with city light, now felt like a cavern. A trap.
Jason guided her away from the window, careful, quiet steps echoing against the polished floor.
"Stay close to me," he murmured.
She already was. Her body almost pressed against his chest, her breath shallow as his warmth wrapped around her like a shield.
"Jason," she whispered, "you need to tell me what's going on."
He hesitated. She felt it in the stillness of his hand, in the way his breath caught for a second.
"I will," he said. "But not here. Not while—"
A sudden metallic clang echoed from the far side of the penthouse.
Maya jerked. Jason instantly pulled her behind him, his body stiffening like a blade.
"That came from the balcony," he whispered.
Another sound followed—a slow, scraping drag across metal.
Maya's heart sprinted. "Is someone… here?"
Jason didn't answer. His silence was answer enough.
He pulled her toward a small corner of the room—a spot away from windows, doors, and any direct sightline. When they stopped, Maya pressed a hand to her chest, trying to calm the wild beating.
Jason leaned close, his breath hot against her ear. "Listen to me carefully. If I tell you to run, you run. Don't argue."
"I'm not leaving you."
"Maya—"
"No."
Her voice broke, raw. "You brought me here. I'm not running out into that storm alone."
He inhaled sharply, like her words hit something inside him he wasn't ready for.
Then a new sound sliced through the darkness — muffled footsteps, slow, cautious, moving along the balcony glass.
Maya grabbed Jason's shirt.
"Jason…"
"I hear it," he murmured.
He wasn't panicking.
He was calculating — like someone who'd been here before.
The footsteps paused.
Silence. A heavy, suffocating silence.
Then—
A phone vibration shattered the stillness.
Jason's.
He looked down at the screen, its glow briefly illuminating the hard lines of his face.
A new message.
From the same unknown number.
"Lights out won't stop her. You should've left the girl out of this."
Maya's stomach twisted.
"Her?" she whispered. "Jason… Who is she?"
Jason's eyes flickered with something cold, something old — a shadow of a memory he didn't want to revisit.
Then the next message came in instantly:
"Tell Maya the truth. Tonight."
She felt the blood drain from her face. "Jason… what truth?"
Before he could answer, lightning slashed across the sky, lighting up the entire penthouse for a single, sharp second —
— long enough for Maya to see the balcony.
A figure.
A woman.
Standing perfectly still in the rain-soaked darkness.
Her face couldn't be seen, but her posture — stiff, predatory — sent a chill up Maya's spine.
Jason cursed under his breath and moved Maya behind him again.
"She found us," he said, voice low and urgent.
"Who?" Maya whispered. "Who is she?"
He turned to her, gripping her shoulders with both hands. His face was inches from hers, eyes dark and burning.
"Maya," he whispered harshly, "I need you to trust me. This woman — she's dangerous."
Her lips trembled. "Are you telling me she's the one sending those messages?"
"No."
His jaw clenched.
"She doesn't warn. She acts."
A violent crack of thunder boomed overhead, shaking the glass.
The silhouette outside shifted.
Maya's breath seized. "Jason… she's coming."
"I know."
"How did she find us? How does she even know me?"
Jason's throat tightened.
His voice dropped to a whisper scraped with regret.
"Because she used to be part of my life."
Maya stared at him, disbelief and panic twisting together.
"A part of your life… how?"
He stepped closer—not to intimidate her, but to keep her shielded as the shadow outside moved again.
"She was someone I trusted," he said. "Someone I worked with. Someone who crossed a line that should've never been crossed."
Maya's heart hammered. "You… you mean romantically?"
Jason shook his head sharply.
"No. Not like that."
Thunder rumbled again.
"She was obsessive," he continued. "Unstable. Dangerous. She became convinced I belonged to her."
Maya's breath hitched.
"Jason…"
"And when she realized I didn't feel the same…"
His eyes hardened.
"She turned everything into a threat."
Lightning flashed again — and this time the silhouette was gone.
Vanished.
Maya's voice cracked. "Where did she go?"
Jason pulled Maya closer, his hand gripping the back of her head as though shielding her from an unseen strike.
"I don't know," he murmured. "But she's not done."
The storm outside roared back to life — wind, rain, and thunder all crashing together.
Jason looked down at Maya, his face inches from hers, his breath trembling with adrenaline and something deeper.
"Maya," he whispered, "this is why I told you to stay away."
She shook her head, tears stinging her eyes. "But I didn't."
His thumb brushed her cheek — slow, soft, heartbreaking.
"I know."
Another rumble.
Another vibration.
Jason's phone lit up one more time.
A photo.
Not of them.
Not of the balcony.
But of Maya's apartment door.
Taken minutes ago.
Maya's knees buckled. Jason caught her against his chest.
"This isn't about me anymore," he said, voice breaking.
"It's about you."
The storm drowned out her breath as the world went completely still around them.
CHAPTER 8
Maya's breath stuttered against Jason's chest. His arms stayed wrapped around her, steady and warm, but everything inside her felt frozen — suspended between fear, confusion, and something that felt dangerously close to heartbreak.
A photo.
Of her apartment.
Taken tonight.
While she wasn't home.
She pressed a hand to her mouth, her fingers shaking. "Jason… she was there."
"I know." His voice was low and tight. "I'm not letting anything happen to you."
"But how did she find me?" Maya whispered, her voice splintering. "I didn't give anyone my address. Not even you."
"You didn't have to."
His jaw clenched. "She's skilled. She knows how to follow trails most people wouldn't even notice exist."
Maya felt a coldness seep into her bones.
"Was she a hacker? A detective? What was she?"
Jason hesitated — too long.
"She worked security. Private sector. High-level tracking and surveillance."
Maya's eyes widened.
"So she's trained."
"Yes," he said quietly. "And she's obsessed."
A crack of thunder split the night sky, jolting the room. The power remained out, leaving them in a pulsing, eerie darkness.
Maya wrapped her arms around herself. "I can't go back home, Jason."
"You're not," he said instantly. "You're staying here."
The certainty in his voice sent a strange warmth through her chest — but it was tangled with fear.
"What if she comes inside?" Maya whispered.
Jason stepped closer, lifting her chin gently with his fingers. "She won't get in. Not tonight."
Something in his voice—a quiet promise, sharp as steel—calmed the tremor in her spine.
But only for a moment.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the room for a heartbeat. Maya caught the outline of Jason's face — the tension in his jaw, the storm in his eyes — before darkness swept over them again.
"Jason, you said she used to be part of your life," Maya murmured. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
His breath hitched.
"It wasn't supposed to touch you. I thought… I thought I could end this before you ever knew."
"How long has she been following you?"
He didn't answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet — painfully so.
"Months."
Maya froze.
"Months?"
Her heart raced. "Jason, that's not something you hide from someone you bring into your home!"
"I didn't bring you into my home because of her," he said sharply. "I brought you here because you were in danger and you didn't even know it."
"But I should've known," she whispered.
She stepped away from him, her hands trembling. "I deserved to know, Jason. You can't protect me by keeping me blind."
Lightning flashed, and for a moment she saw raw anguish in his eyes — a vulnerability he rarely revealed.
He reached out and caught her wrist softly. "I wasn't trying to blind you, Maya. I was trying not to lose you."
Her breath caught.
Lose her?
"What does that even mean?" she whispered.
He was silent for a long moment. The darkness pressed against them like a living thing, waiting.
Then he stepped closer, his voice low and rough.
"It means I didn't want fear to push you away from me before I could tell you how I—"
A sudden crash tore through the penthouse.
Glass shattering.
Metal bending.
Something falling heavily to the floor.
Maya gasped, and Jason instantly pulled her behind him again, his body tense and alert.
"That came from the balcony door," he murmured.
Her heart hammered in her chest. "Jason… she got in."
"No," he said through clenched teeth. "She's trying to."
Another crash — louder this time.
Jason's breath cooled against her ear.
"Maya, stay low. Stay quiet."
He guided her behind the couch, pressing a hand to her shoulder until she crouched down. His fingers lingered an extra second — soft, reassuring — before he straightened and moved toward the sound.
She grabbed his arm desperately. "Jason, don't—"
He looked down at her. Even in the darkness, she saw something fierce in his eyes.
"I'm not letting her get near you."
Her chest ached.
Fear.
Longing.
Something deeper she didn't want to name.
But before she could respond, another message buzzed on Jason's phone.
He checked it.
His expression changed — hardened — as he read it aloud:
"If you think she's inside, you underestimate me. I don't need to break in to reach her."
Maya's blood ran cold.
"Jason… what does that mean?"
He turned to her, and for the first time, she saw real panic crack through his calm exterior.
"Maya…"
His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Where's your bag?"
Her heart plummeted.
"My bag…? It's right—"
She froze.
Her bag wasn't on the couch.
It wasn't on the table.
It wasn't anywhere.
Jason strode to the spot where she'd dropped it earlier.
Empty.
Gone.
"No," Maya whispered, shaking her head. "No, no, no—"
The phone buzzed again.
Jason lifted it slowly.
A photo.
The bag.
Opened.
Her phone is visible inside it.
The caption below chilled her to the bone:
"You should choose better hiding places."
Maya's breath vanished completely. Her knees gave out, and she sank to the floor, shaking.
"Jason… she's been inside. She touched my things."
Jason crouched beside her, his hands gripping her shoulders.
"Maya, look at me."
She did — barely.
"I'm getting you out of this," he said fiercely. "I swear to you, I will."
"But how?" she whispered, tears forming. "She knows where I live. She knows where I work. She's been in this building. Jason, she took my bag—"
Jason leaned closer, pressing his forehead to hers in a desperate attempt to steady her.
"Maya, I'm not letting anything happen to you."
She breathed in sharply as his closeness wrapped around her like a fragile shield.
"I need you to trust me," he whispered. "Just this once. Please."
Her tears spilt silently. She nodded — not because she felt safe, but because Jason's voice felt like the only solid thing left in her collapsing world.
He exhaled shakily. His lips brushed her temple — not a kiss, but an accidental, aching touch.
Then, suddenly, the apartment filled with a faint humming sound.
Power.
Lights flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then the penthouse was fully illuminated.
And standing in the middle of the living room…
…was Maya's missing bag.
Perfectly placed.
Centre of the floor.
Jason's face drained of colour.
"Maya," he whispered, "she's not outside anymore."
Maya turned slowly, her breath trapped—
The balcony door was closed.
Locked.
Untouched.
Every door.
Every window.
Every entry.
Locked.
Yet her bag sat in the centre of the room.
She swallowed hard.
"Jason… Is she still here?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
Because for the first time — Jason couldn't tell where the danger was coming from.
And the storm outside began again.
CHAPTER 9
The apartment felt smaller now, constricting, as if the walls themselves were closing in. Maya's hands trembled as she ran them over the couch cushions, over the table, over the floor where her bag had appeared. Each object seemed to hum with unseen energy.
"How… how is this possible?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the renewed roar of the storm outside.
Jason didn't answer right away. His eyes scanned every corner, every shadow, his jaw tight, his muscles coiled like a predator ready to strike.
"She didn't—can't—be inside," he muttered, more to himself than to her. "All entries are secure. All locks. Nothing's been tampered with."
Maya swallowed hard. "Then how… how did she move my bag?"
Jason shook his head, exhaling shakily. "I don't know. But we can't stay here. We need to get out."
"Get out?" Her voice cracked. "You mean leave? Where? The building? My apartment? She knows those places. She—she knows everything."
He stepped closer, his hand brushing hers, grounding her despite the panic thrumming between them. "We'll find a safe place. Somewhere she can't predict."
Lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating his face, sharp and tense. She noticed the flicker of fear behind his usually unshakable eyes. "Jason…"
"I'm scared, too," he admitted, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I've been trying to protect you. But I didn't know she had… whatever this is."
Maya's chest tightened. "Whatever this is?"
He looked at her, voice hoarse. "She's not just a stalker. She's… inside our lives in a way we can't see. She's controlling things we thought were safe."
Before she could respond, Jason's phone buzzed again. He snatched it up, scanning the message. His lips pressed into a thin line.
Maya glimpsed the screen: a photo of her shoes, neatly lined by the apartment door, and a single line beneath:
"Next move?"
Her stomach dropped. "Jason… she's everywhere. She's… she's here."
Jason's eyes locked on hers, fierce and protective. "Not here," he said. "We just haven't found her yet. But we will."
Maya's knees gave way. She sank to the floor, wrapping her arms around herself. "I can't… I can't do this anymore. I feel like… like we're trapped."
Jason knelt beside her, his hand brushing her hair back. "You're not alone," he said, voice steady. "I'm right here. We'll figure this out—together."
Her breath hitched as his fingers lingered on her cheek. The storm outside raged, but inside, heat and tension coiled between them, unspoken and undeniable.
"I… I trust you," she whispered.
"And I'll never let her get to you," he said, leaning closer, his forehead resting against hers. Their closeness was a fragile shield against the chaos around them.
Then, the hum of the elevator startled them. Both flinched. Maya's eyes darted to the security camera feed on Jason's tablet—it was dead. Black.
"She cut the feed," Jason said, voice low. "She's inside the building. She knows we're thinking about leaving."
Maya's pulse thudded in her ears. "Then… then there's nowhere to hide."
Jason's fingers tightened around hers. "Maybe not," he admitted. "But we're not going to run blindly. We're smart. We're going to outsmart her."
A loud click echoed from the kitchen. Both froze. Jason gestured for her to stay low, his body pressing against hers as he crept toward the sound.
Maya's heart hammered. Every shadow seemed alive. Every gust of wind rattling the windows sounded like her name being whispered.
Suddenly, a metallic thud behind them. Maya spun, breath catching—nothing. Just the storm thrashing against the building.
Jason's phone buzzed again. He hesitated before checking it. His face went pale.
Maya leaned forward. "What is it?"
A video played. It was her apartment. From above. The camera angle was impossible. The lens moved slowly over the furniture, the floor, the walls—landing finally on them, crouched together behind the couch.
Maya's blood ran cold. "How… how did she—?"
Jason's hand went to his temple, rubbing it in frustration. "She's… she's everywhere. We thought it was physical. But it's not. She's… controlling perception. Or cameras. Or—"
He broke off, swallowing. His eyes never left hers. "She's closer than we think. She's in the room with us right now, Maya."
Maya felt her chest tighten. "No. That's impossible."
Jason shook his head slowly. "I don't know how, but… yes. That's exactly what it feels like."
The storm's fury outside mirrored the chaos inside them. Every shadow seemed to twitch, every creak of the apartment was amplified. And then—soft, almost imperceptible—a whisper drifted through the room:
"Hello, Maya."
She jumped, clutching Jason's arm. He pulled her close, scanning every corner. Nothing. Yet the voice lingered, mocking, intimate, impossible.
Jason's jaw clenched. "We can't stay here. We have to move. Now."
Maya nodded, trembling. "But… where?"
He kissed her temple—not tenderly, not gently, but with the desperation of someone trying to anchor both of them to reality. "Somewhere she can't touch. Somewhere she won't think to look. And we'll make her pay for every step she's taken against us."
Her hands found his face, gripping him, needing him as much as fearing him. "I'm not leaving you," she said, voice fierce despite the terror.
"And I'm not letting you," he whispered.
A flash of lightning revealed movement behind the curtains. Maya froze. Jason's hand went to his side, but the shadow disappeared as suddenly as it appeared.
The storm raged, their apartment became a labyrinth of paranoia and fear, and the realization settled over them like ice:
There was nowhere to hide.
And yet… somehow, together, they would face her.
Because if they didn't, neither of them would survive the night.
CHAPTER 10
The storm had softened to a low, angry drizzle, but the tension inside the safe house Jason had rented felt worse than any hurricane outside. Maya's fingers trembled as she traced the edge of the table, willing herself to calm down.
Jason paced the small living room, phone in hand, checking for any sign of interference, any digital trace that could give them a lead. "She's watching," he muttered. "Every move we make. Every call, every message…" His jaw clenched. "She's in our heads, Maya. I can feel it."
Maya's breath caught. "In our heads?"
He stopped pacing and faced her, the storm of fear and determination in his eyes making her chest ache. "She knows what we're thinking before we act. That's why the apartment… the bag… the camera feed… everything. She's not just tracking us. She's anticipating us."
Maya swallowed hard. "Then how do we fight someone who knows us better than we know ourselves?"
Jason knelt beside her, brushing a strand of hair from her face. His touch was the only thing grounding her in the chaos. "We improvise. We think like she thinks we think. We break the pattern."
Her pulse raced as he traced a line down her arm, holding her gaze. "Jason… what if we fail?"
He shook his head, fierce. "We won't. Not together. I'm not losing you."
The words, raw and unflinching, sent a shiver through her. Her lips parted to speak, but the sudden chime of a notification stopped her. Jason froze, eyes narrowing at the screen.
It was an email. No sender. No header. Just one attachment. He opened it.
The photo made Maya gasp and stumble back.
It was them. Inside this very room. Watching them. Every detail captured: Jason pacing, Maya sitting tensely at the table, the storm-light shadows stretching across the walls.
Beneath the photo, typed in crisp, digital letters:
"You think you're safe. You are already mine."
Maya's knees buckled. Jason caught her just in time, holding her against his chest. His lips pressed briefly to her hair. "She's inside the building. Or she has access to something… worse."
Maya's mind raced. "Worse than physical? Jason… what do you mean?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. But she's controlling perception. She's making us doubt everything, fear everything. And she's enjoying it."
A sharp, metallic click echoed from the corner of the room. Both spun. Nothing. But the tension was palpable, suffocating.
Jason grabbed a flashlight from the counter, swinging it across the shadows. Maya clung to him. Every flicker of light seemed to create more shadows, more possibilities.
Then, a whisper, so soft it might have been the wind:
"I see you."
Maya froze, heart hammering. Jason's hands tightened around hers. "Stay behind me," he said. "Whatever this is, we face it together."
They moved through the small apartment like predators, checking every corner, every dark space. But each room, each closet, was empty. Yet the feeling persisted—someone else was there, always just out of reach.
Suddenly, Jason's phone buzzed again. He snatched it up. A video this time. The camera angle impossible. It showed the safe house exterior… and inside the frame, shadows moved along the walls behind them, subtle but unmistakable.
Maya's voice trembled. "Jason… she's inside."
He shook his head. "Not inside in the traditional sense. She's… everywhere. She's the shadow."
Maya's chest tightened. "The shadow?"
"Yes," he said, voice low, trembling slightly. "She's not just stalking. She's infiltrating reality. She's… ahead of us in ways I can't even predict."
A sudden knock on the door made them both jump. Jason moved in front of her, fists clenched. "Who is it?"
A familiar voice, calm, teasing, yet dangerous:
"You can't hide. Not from me. Not anywhere."
Maya froze. She knew that voice. That single, cold syllable made her blood run cold. The woman. The stalker.
Jason's eyes narrowed, scanning the door, windows, every shadow. "We have to leave. Now."
Maya's hands trembled against his chest. "Where?"
He took her hand, gripping it tightly. "Anywhere she won't expect. Anywhere she can't reach. But we move carefully. She's planning every step."
Lightning flashed outside, illuminating the fear and resolve in their faces. In that moment, the storm became a mirror of the chaos that had invaded their lives.
Maya's voice was a whisper, yet firm. "Jason… I'm not leaving you behind. Not for anything."
He pulled her close, pressing his forehead to hers. "And I'll never let you face her alone."
A chill passed through the room, as if the shadows themselves were listening, calculating.
Then Jason froze. He felt it. Something… off. The air shifted, heavy, impossible. His gaze flicked to the corner of the room, where nothing was, and yet he knew: she was there. Watching. Smiling.
Maya's breath hitched. "Jason…?"
He didn't answer. Because for the first time, he realized the truth: the shadow didn't just follow. It anticipated. It could be anywhere, at any moment.
And when it struck, they wouldn't know if they were running… or falling straight into her hands.
The storm outside intensified. And inside, the shadow waited.