DOVE
The kitchen is warm, the smell of cinnamon and coffee filling the space as I sit at the table, my eyes flicking to the window now and then. Outside, the world is waking up, the sun barely peeking over the horizon, casting a soft light over the quiet town of Hollow Hills. Christina’s humming, clattering around the kitchen as she flips pancakes with a little too much enthusiasm.
“Come on, Dove! You can’t hide in here forever,” she teases, a playful smile on her face as she tosses a pancake in the air like she’s auditioning for a cooking show. “You’ve got to get out. We’ve been in this house for days. Go for a walk, do something!”
I lift my mug to my lips, feeling the warmth of the coffee seep into my chest, but I don’t meet her eyes. I keep staring into my cup, watching the steam rise, my mind elsewhere. Somewhere dark. Somewhere I don’t want to be.
“I don’t know, Chris,” I murmur, my voice small and tight, as I push the pancakes around on my plate. “I’m just… not feeling it today.”
Christina sighs dramatically, sitting down across from me, her eyes full of mock sympathy. “Oh, here we go with the ‘I’m not feeling it’ nonsense. It’s a gorgeous day, Dove. You’ve been holed up in this house for way too long. Fresh air, some sun, it’ll do you good.”
The sound of the fork against my plate is louder than it should be. My fingers curl around the handle of my coffee cup as I try to ignore the unease creeping in, the jittery sensation that has been gnawing at my insides for days. I feel like I’m being watched. Like eyes are on me, even when I’m alone in this house with Christina.
I know that’s not normal. But the sensation… it’s too real. Too tangible to ignore.
“I’m fine,” I whisper, hoping Christina doesn’t hear the tremble in my voice. I don’t want her to know. I don’t want her to see the way my chest tightens at every little sound, the way I flinch at shadows. I don’t want her to see the way I can’t escape it—the feeling of being followed.
Christina isn’t fooled. She leans forward, resting her elbows on the table, a concerned expression creeping across her face. “You sure? I get that you’re feeling… off, but staying cooped up won’t help. You’ve got to live your life, Dove. You can’t just hide forever.”
I feel the blood drain from my face. I can’t hide forever. That thought hits me with a cold rush. I can’t keep pretending everything’s fine, can’t keep pretending that I’m not afraid. That I don’t see shapes in the corner of my vision when I’m in the living room or hear footsteps echoing when I’m alone in my bedroom. That I don’t feel like I’m being watched. Always watched.
I swallow, but my throat feels tight. “I—I just… can’t, okay?”
Christina doesn’t push further, but the way she stares atme tells me she doesn’t buy it. She reaches for her phone, tapping the screen quickly. “Alright, fine. I’ll go out myself if you’re gonna sit here and mope. But I’m not giving up on you, Dove. I’m coming back and dragging you out of this house, whether you like it or not.”
She tries to lighten the mood, but I can’t shake the dread clawing at my insides.
As she leaves the room, I can’t stop the sickening thoughts from flooding my mind. I can’t stop the vision of him—the shadow that I swear I keep seeing outside the window. My heart races at the thought, my breath growing shallow as I curl my fingers into the fabric of my shirt. It’s like a sick game, and I’m losing. I try to push it away. To push him away.
I force myself to take another breath, but it’s not enough. The feeling is back, heavier now, sinking into my skin, making my spine stiffen. I feel it crawling under my skin, that same cold, creeping sensation that I’m being watched.
From the corner of my eye, a shadow flits across the living room window. I freeze.
My breath stops in my chest.
It’s him.
I quickly glance toward the window, my heartbeat thudding in my ears, but there’s nothing there. No one. Just the soft, early morning light spilling across the snow-dusted yard.
I try to tell myself it’s nothing. A trick of the light. But my hands shake as I clutch the edge of the table, the silence too heavy, too thick around me.
The memory of Ashton comes rushing back—the way he’dheld me, the way his voice was always so sure, so certain, when he’d whispered that I was his. The way I’d allowed myself to believe it. To fall for it. For him.
I blink, forcing my thoughts away. My pulse is hammering in my neck, and my head feels too full, too heavy. I push the plate away from me, suddenly nauseous.
Get a grip, Dove.
But it’s impossible to ignore the way my breath hitches, the way the world around me feels so eerily quiet, like it’s holding its breath—waiting.
Another flicker of movement.
I glance up sharply, but there’s no one there. I know I’m alone. I know it.
But I don’t feel it.
I get up from the table, my legs shaky, and head toward the living room window. As I pass the door, I glance outside again.
Nothing.
