Chapter 10 Shadows Don't Knock

It's too quiet again.

I didn't realize how much space Mason's breathing took up. Now that it's gone, the apartment feels like it's holding its breath. Waiting.

It's not like I miss him.

Not really.

But part of me keeps listening for the way he used to stir in his sleep. Just a sound. A presence.

Now, even my shadow feels distant.

The food's down to half a pack of dry pasta, one can of beans, and a crushed protein bar. I haven't eaten since yesterday morning, but my stomach's too twisted to care.

I check the front door for the third time that morning.

That's when I notice it.

The lock.

It's turned just a hair off center.

Not how I left it.

My skin goes tight.

There's a thin scratch running across the knob like someone fumbled with a key that didn't quite fit.

I tell myself it's nothing. A draft. My own mistake.

But I don't believe me.

I wedge a chair under the doorknob and tape a string to the handle. Just in case.

Then I sit on the floor, knees tucked to my chest, every muscle on alert.

This isn't survival anymore.

This is siege.

I doze off sometime in the afternoon, only to jolt awake to the sound of footsteps in the hallway.

Not heavy. Not rushed.

Just steady.

Slow.

I press my back to the wall, heart pounding.

The steps pause near my door.

No knock.

No voice.

Just silence.

I don't breathe.

Not until the footsteps continue down the hall.

I don't sleep that night.

Instead, I sit with the knife I took from the kitchen drawer resting in my lap. It's small. Dull. But it's something.

I listen.

I wait.

And I think about all the things I can't control:

Mom's absence.

Mason's secrets.

The food.

The cold.

The things that move in silence.

Rule #12: If you feel hunted, you probably are.

And shadows don't knock before they break the door.