But then I see it.
Centre of the room.
A chair.
An old wooden one, with a single black silk ribbon tied to the back.
And sitting on the seat—A Polaroid.
I cross the room slowly, every instinct screaming that I’m not alone.
I pick up the photo.
And my blood turns cold.
It’s Raven.
Asleep.
Taken from inside my apartment.
But it’s not from my angle.
It’s taken from the closet.
The timestamp in the corner?
Twelve hours before I ever brought her there.
My jaw locks so hard my molars ache. My grip tightens around the photo until the edges curl under my fingers.
He’s not watching her.
He’s been inside.
I spin, scanning every corner, every vent, every exit. Nothing.
Then I see the second note.
Pinned to the inside of the doorway I walked through.
Black paper. Handwritten in red ink.
My name.
Damien.
I rip it off the wall.
You think you’re the first one who wanted to keep her?
That’s cute.
Let’s see who breaks first.
Hint: it won’t be her.
—N
