A tremor runs through me. Seven years since he broke into my home. Seven years, he whispered my name in my dreams. And he hasn’t changed. Not even a little.
“I’m here now,” I say carefully. “We can talk.”
He giggles—an actual giggle. High. Wrong.
“Oh, Lucky… no. We’re past talking. This…” He looks around the house like it’s a stage built just for him. “This is our ending. Our perfect ending. You and me. No more interruptions.”
His eyes drop to my feet, to the tremble in my fingers, to anything he can read and twist and savor.
I take one slow step back.
His smile sharpens.
“Yes. Run,” he whispers. “I like it when you run. But this time you won’t escape so easily, because I know you well.”
My heart stutters.
Ethan.
Where is he?
Why isn’t the door crashing open?
My breath shudders out, but I lift my chin.
I’ve spent seven years running from the ghost of this man.
Seven years drowning in the silence he left behind.
Not today.
Today I stand my ground, even if my knees want to buckle and my throat wants to close.
This piece of shit wants a perfect ending?
Fine.
He’s going to get one.
Just not the one he thinks.
I plant my feet. My voice is sharper than I feel. “You’re done,” I snap. “Get out. Now.”
He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t react. But I see him watching me, and I feel my pulse surge with something I didn’t think I’d feel: power.
The fear is still there—god, it’s still there—but so is the fire. And for the first time, I know I won’t run. Not today. Not with Ethan in the world behind me, not with Lily somewhere safe. Not with all the music I’ve clawed back into my veins.
This is my second chance at life, and Michael Sheifer won’t ruin it for me.
I take a deep, bracing breath and step forward, ready to confront the nightmare that’s haunted my life for years.
And for the first time, I feel… almost alive.
His eyes flick toward the window—just for a second.
It’s enough.
I lunge for the hallway. Not graceful. Not strategic. Just pure, desperate instinct.
