I walk to my room in a slow daze, like I’m wading through water. The house feels different. Bigger. Darker. Like it stillremembers the chase. Like it’s holding its breath with me.
In the bathroom, I twist the shower knob. Water bursts from the faucet, steam instantly fogging the mirror. I peel off my clothes slowly, one piece at a time.
My reflection looks back at me—flushed cheeks, wide eyes, that dazed, shaky-lipped expression of someone who just lived through something impossible.
I look… almost good.
Almost haunted.
The water pounds against my skin, hot enough that it bites a little. I tip my head back, let it wash away the sweat and the fear and every shaky breath I’ve taken in the last hour.
But it doesn’t wash awayhim.
My mind keeps replaying everything.
The weight of him.
The height difference.
That voice—dark, dangerous, sinful in a way I don’t even want to admit out loud.
In my head, I try to picture his face behind the mask.
Sharp jaw?
Piercing eyes?
A mouth that probably curves into a smirk when he stalks his prey?
Yeah.
That seems right.
I swallow, my throat tight. The steam thickens around me, clinging to my skin.
The image sharpens.
His broad shoulders.
That skull mask—red with a black brush strokes across the mask.
I exhale, shakier than I want to admit.
For a split second, I almost wish he walked in here now.
That he’d pin me against the tiles and—
No.
No.
Stop.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
Try to clear my head.
Try to breathe normally.
