The third one, grainy, almost out of frame?—
Looks like someone I used to know.
But the name won’t come.
It’s buried.
Coated in ash.
“Do you remember him?” Damien asks.
I nod, barely.
“I think he was…” I pause. “He worked at the school. Years ago. Janitor, maybe? Or campus safety. I don’t know.”
Damien looks at me.
Not at my face.
At my hands.
And I realise I’m shaking again.
I balled them into fists.
He kneels in front of me.
Grips my thighs. Tight. Grounding.
“Listen to me,” he says. “Whoever he is—he isn’t just watching anymore.”
I meet his eyes.
And for the first time…
He looks afraid.
Truly afraid.
“What does he want?” I whisper.
Damien doesn’t answer.
Not right away.
When he finally speaks, it’s so quiet I almost miss it.
“I think he wants to finish what I interrupted.”
Damien’s hands are tight on my thighs.
Too tight.
His jaw ticks once. Then again.
I can feel his heartbeat through the grip. Hard. Staggered.
He’s not trying to scare me.
