"A FRIEND. BUT YOU ALREADY KNOW THAT."
"No I don't know that and I don't know you."
I bit my fingers, biting my lips. I squinted my eyes.
I moved the cursor into his page.
No name.
No email.
A well hidden identity.
I moved into the coding site.
Tapping some coding numbers I created a bot, to hack into his email.
When another message popped up.
"DON'T THINK YOU CAN HACK INTO MY SYSTEM DARLING."
I huffed. "Proud much?"
I sent it, biting my lips as the bug moved into his email page.
Blocked.
Damaged.
I gasped. He broke my bug. I couldn't even hack past the first firewall.
"YOU REALLY ARE STUBBORN. I KINDA LIKE IT THOUGH."
My pulse quickened. None of this made sense. Who was playing this game with me, and why? I exhaled sharply, trying to think through the haze of fear.
"What do you want?" I sent, half-expecting silence.
But another reply appeared almost instantly.
"FOR YOU TO SEE THE TRUTH."
This only made my eyebrows dipped.
"What truth?"
The ambiguity made my skin crawl. I glanced around the room, searching for hidden cameras or listening devices as if I could feel eyes on me, watching.
Sunlight streamed in through the slats of the blinds, casting lines across the walls and floor.
The brightness was almost surreal compared to the tension in my chest. I stared at the screen, rereading the latest message.
"LOOK OUT YOUR WINDOW."
My fingers gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white as I hesitated. The messages had been strange enough, every word dripping with implications that made my pulse race. But this… this was different.
This felt real, immediate.
With a deep breath, I pushed back the chair and stood, my ankle protesting as I hobbled to the window. Each step sent a dull throb through my leg, but I ignored it, focusing only on the pull of whatever awaited me outside.
I reached the window and lifted the blinds, squinting as the bright afternoon sun flooded my vision. The street below was busy with the usual mid-day hustle: people walking with hurried steps, cars honking as they navigated the traffic, the shimmer of heat rising from the asphalt.
For a moment, I thought maybe this was just another trick, a psychological game meant to rattle me.
But then I saw him.
A figure stood across the street, leaning casually against a lamp post. He was dressed in dark clothes, a cap pulled low over his face, and a mask that covered everything except his eyes. The sun glinted off a pair of black gloves as he lifted one hand in a slow, deliberate wave.
The distance was too great to make out any details, but there was no mistaking that the wave was for me. My chest tightened, and the air in the room suddenly felt too thin. He stood there, unmoving, as if daring me to acknowledge him, to show that I'd seen him.
A shiver ran down my spine, and I let the blinds fall shut, stumbling back a step. The noise from outside seeped through the window, muffled and distant. My mind raced, replaying the way he'd stood there, confident and knowing. The email notification on my laptop pinged again, making me jump.
I turned, staring at the screen.
"I PROMISE I AM NOT A SERIAL KILLER. I JUST DON'T LIKE THE SUN MUCH."
I trembled.
I biy my lips bubbling towards my laptop.
My hands shook as I typed out a response, anger bubbling to the surface. "If you think you can play Scream 6 with me, you are totally wrong. I will find you. And I will pluck your fucking eyes out."
I hit send with more force than necessary, my jaw clenched.
The reply came swiftly.
"YOU'RE CUTE WHEN YOU LAY THREATS."
My blood ran cold at the familiarity of it, at the playful tone that made my skin crawl. I waited, eyes locked on the screen, my breaths shallow. The next line took longer to come through, the anticipation wrapping tightly around my chest.
"BUT IT DOESN'T WORK ON ME... IT ONLY WORKS FOR SOMEONE THAT CAN DIE."
My fingers hesitated above the keys as I read the words, my heart hammering.
The meaning was clear, chilling in its simplicity. Whoever this was, they were telling me they weren't afraid because they couldn't die.
It was absurd, impossible—but in this life where I'd been reborn and surrounded by mysteries, impossible didn't mean what it used to.
I typed slowly, each word deliberate. "Who are exactly are you? Or better still what"
A pause. Longer this time. The cursor blinked, taunting me, as if whoever was on the other end was deciding how much they wanted to reveal.
"SOMEONE WHO KNOWS YOU BETTER THAN YOU KNOW YOURSELF."
My throat tightened. I leaned back, eyes darting to the closed blinds. The thought of that masked figure still standing across the street sent a shiver down my spine. I could almost feel his eyes on me.
"Why are you watching me?" I sent, the question sharp and urgent.
The reply came slower this time, as if they were savoring the silence.
"BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT SEEING WHAT'S RIGHT IN FRONT OF YOU. AND UNTIL YOU DO, I'LL BE HERE."
A surge of frustration hit me. "Enough riddles. What do you want?"
The screen stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. Then, finally:
"TO SEE IF YOU'RE READY FOR THE TRUTH."
I stared at the words, my mind racing. The truth? About what? Before I could type another question, the laptop pinged again, the last message appearing like a final blow:
"AND TO SEE IF YOU CAN SURVIVE IT."
The breath caught in my throat, and I glanced at the window again, expecting to see the figure still there, still watching. But the street was empty now, filled only with the mundane bustle of midday life.
I typed, "You are repeating yourself. What exactly is the truth?"
I waited, fingers hovering over the keyboard, eyes glued to the screen.
The cursor blinked, an infuriating reminder that I was still in the dark.
The seconds dragged on, stretching into minutes, each one tightening the knot in my stomach.
The room seemed to grow colder, and the faint sounds of the hospital beyond my door faded into an uneasy silence.
Waiting. Waiting.
Suddenly, the door creaked open, and I flinched so hard that my laptop nearly slipped from my lap. My heart lurched as I snapped my head toward the sound.
The door opened, and I flinched, my heart jumping to my throat.
But when I looked up, it wasn't the masked figure from outside or a shadow of my nightmares.
It was Jason.
And behind him, Vincent, looking more disheveled than I'd ever seen him, with his tie loosened and dark circles under his eyes. Jason held a brown paper bag in one hand, the scent of fresh food drifting through the room and cutting through the sterile hospital smell. His eyes met mine, the usual guarded look softening for just a moment when I smiled at him, the tension seeping out of my body like air from a balloon.
"I didn't expect you to come by again," I said, my voice carrying a mix of surprise and relief.
Jason smirked, setting the bag on the small table by my bed. "Figured you could use some company. Hospital rooms aren't exactly known for their lively atmosphere."
Vincent leaned against the wall, letting out a dramatic sigh. "If I never see another hospital again, it'll be too soon," he muttered, rubbing his temples. He caught my eye and winked, though the exhaustion behind his smile was clear.
I glanced between them, a small smile breaking through despite the anxiety that had been coiling in my chest. "What did you bring?" I nodded toward the bag, curious.
Jason opened it and began pulling out containers. "Just some real food. Hospital meals aren't exactly gourmet," he said, handing me a container with warm pasta that smelled like garlic and herbs. My stomach growled in response, reminding me that I hadn't eaten properly in hours.
"Thanks," I said softly, taking the container. The warmth seeped into my hands, grounding me, if only for a moment. "You really didn't have to."
He shrugged, pulling up a chair and settling in beside my bed. "I wanted to," he replied, the nonchalance of his words contrasting with the way his eyes lingered on me, as if checking for cracks in my facade.
Vincent slid down to sit on the windowsill, watching the scene unfold with a resigned kind of patience. "Don't mind me," he said, waving a hand. "I'm just here for moral support."
I chuckled, the sound feeling foreign but welcome. "You both look like you've been through the wringer."
Jason's eyes glinted with something unreadable as he leaned back. "You could say that," he said quietly. He studied me for a moment before asking, "Are you okay, Kiara? Really?"
I hesitated, my fingers tightening around the container. The loaded question made my pulse quicken. There was so much I couldn't tell him, so much I didn't even understand myself. But looking at his face—those eyes that always seemed to see more than I wanted them to—I nodded. "I'm managing."
He didn't look convinced, but he didn't push either. A heavy silence fell between us, broken only by the faint beeping of the machines and Vincent tapping idly on his phone.
"I don't want to be the bearer of bad news," Jason said, his tone shifting, the atmosphere in the room darkening as he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his phone. His expression turned serious, eyes sharp as they met mine. "But I think your so-called boyfriend is cheating on you."
My breath caught as he handed me the phone, a photo displayed on the screen.
An image of Gabriel and Jessica…kissing