And me. Wrapped up tight. Just us.”
My knees buckle, and I slide down the wall, fighting back tears. I can feel him everywhere—like he’s sinking into my skin, carving his words into my bones.
My hands shake as I type back.
Why me?
The reply is almost instant.
Because you’re mine. And I always take care of what’s mine.
My breath shudders out of me, and I can’t hold back the sob anymore. I press my forehead to my knees, curling tighter, wishing I could just disappear.
Then another message.
Go home, Little Spider. Lock the door. I’ll come to you. We’ll play properly this time.
I can’t move. Can’t think.
The cold sinks into my bones, and I don’t know how long I sit there, paralysed. Eventually, I force myself to stand, wiping myface with the sleeve of my hoodie. I take one step, then another, moving like I’m sleepwalking.
I make it out of the alley, blending into the crowd. I’m not going home. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t go back there. Not with him waiting.
I look down at my phone one last time before shoving it into my pocket.
Be a good girl, Raven. I’ll find you.
I break into a run, weaving through the people, my heart thundering in my chest. I don’t know where I’m going, but I can’t stop. I can’t let him catch me.
But deep down, I know he will.
I don’t know how long I run—streets blur together, the cold slicing through my lungs, my feet aching with every step. I can’t stop. If I stop, he’ll catch up. If I stop, he’ll find me.
I cut through side streets, weaving between parked cars and bins, ignoring the honks and curses when I dash across busy intersections. I don’t know where I’m going. I just need to put distance between me and that coffee shop, between me and his messages.
My phone vibrates again, and I force myself to keep moving. I can’t look. Can’t risk it.
When I finally slow down, I find myself on the edge of the city—a stretch of abandoned warehouses lining the riverbank. The water laps against the concrete, dark and murky, reflecting the pale grey sky.
I lean against a chain-link fence, trying to catch my breath, chest heaving, sweat cooling on my skin. I glance back the way I came, half-expecting to see him striding out of the fog.
Nothing.
I take my phone out with shaking hands, half of me terrified of seeing another message. I unlock it. Four missed texts. One voicemail. All from him.
My stomach twists, and I tap on the voicemail, pressing the phone to my ear.
His voice, low and dangerous, tinged with cruel amusement:
“Little spider, little spider, spinning through the night,
Running from the shadows, thinking she’s out of sight.
But with every step you take, I’m right there by your side.
And when you think you’re all alone, that’s when I like to hide.
Run faster, little spider, see how far you’ll get,
