Whisper in the dark

Mia didn't remember unlocking her car. She didn't remember starting the engine or swerving out of the cracked parking lot of Raven's Hollow. She just remembered her breath coming in sharp gasps, the taste of rust and panic on her tongue, and the cold certainty that her life had split in two — before Alex, and after Alex.

The night swallowed the road in front of her headlights. Old country lanes blurred past, a mess of trees and skeletal fences. Every flicker of shadow in the rear-view made her chest tighten. She half-expected to see headlights tailing her — or worse, Alex's face, begging her to come back.

Don't look back, she told herself. You did the right thing.

But that whisper in the dark — the one that always protected her — wasn't whispering comfort now. It was silent. Or maybe drowned out by the blood pounding in her ears.

She drove on autopilot until streetlights appeared — the soft orange glow of the city bleeding away the suffocating dark of the countryside. She took a left, then a right. Anywhere but home. She couldn't go home. If those men knew about her, knew where she lived — she'd be handing herself over like a gift-wrapped secret.

Her phone lay dead on the passenger seat. No signal, no power, no lifeline. She slammed her hand on the wheel in frustration, blinking back tears she refused to let fall.

She needed somewhere safe. Someone she could trust.

Her mind flashed to Hannah — her best friend since high school, the one who always knew when Mia's silences meant she was screaming inside. Hannah's apartment was only ten minutes away. She could figure out what to do in the morning. Or at least hide long enough to breathe.

Mia turned onto Maple Street, the familiar rows of old brick houses a relief after the ruin of the train station. She killed the headlights before pulling into Hannah's driveway. Silly, maybe — but the dark felt safer than announcing herself with a blaze of light.

She grabbed her bag, slipped out of the car, and tiptoed up the front steps. Her knuckles hovered over the door, then she stopped herself. It was nearly midnight — she'd wake Hannah's entire building banging like this.

She reached for the spare key hidden under the faded welcome mat — same place it had always been, despite Hannah's threats to finally buy a lockbox. Mia slipped inside, closing the door with a soft click.

The apartment smelled like vanilla candles and laundry detergent. Safe. Warm. Familiar. She dropped her bag by the couch and sank onto the worn cushions, burying her face in her hands. The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving her shivering and hollow.

She didn't hear Hannah until a sleepy voice drifted from the hallway. "Mia? Jesus, you scared me."

Mia looked up, blinking through the blur. Hannah stood there in oversized pajamas, hair a wild halo around her face, one hand rubbing sleep from her eyes.

"Hannah…" The word cracked her composure, and before she could stop herself, she was sobbing — ugly, gasping sobs that ripped through the quiet apartment. Hannah rushed forward, dropping to the couch, pulling Mia into a fierce hug.

"Hey, hey — it's okay. You're okay. What happened?"

Between gasps, Mia tried to explain. The gallery. Alex. The ruined station. The men, the bag, the threat hanging over her like a noose she hadn't even seen until it tightened.

Hannah held her until the worst of the tremors passed. Then she pulled back just enough to look Mia in the eyes. "You did the right thing leaving him there," she said, voice firm in a way that made Mia want to believe it. "You did exactly what you had to do."

Mia sniffed, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. "I feel so stupid. I barely know him — I just… I wanted it to be real, you know? I wanted him to be good."

Hannah's expression softened. "He might be. But he's not safe. There's a difference."

Mia nodded, her throat raw. "What if they come here?"

"They won't." Hannah stood, crossing to the window. She peeked through the blinds like she expected danger to be parked at the curb. "You'll stay here tonight. Tomorrow we'll call the police, or — I don't know — a lawyer or something. We'll figure it out."

Mia wanted to believe her. But some part of her — the part that had stood in the ruin of Raven's Hollow, staring at Alex's raw, desperate face — knew it wouldn't be that easy.

She leaned back on the couch, exhaustion pressing down on her like a weighted blanket. She felt Hannah's hand squeeze her shoulder before the older girl padded back to her room, promising to leave the door open just in case.

Mia closed her eyes. For a moment, the whisper in the dark was just the hum of the city outside the window.

But just before sleep dragged her under, her phone buzzed — faint, muffled. She jerked upright, heart stuttering.

The screen was cracked from when she'd dropped it on the station floor, but the message glowed clear as day.

Unknown Number: You shouldn't have run.

She stared at it, her pulse roaring in her ears. Another ping.

Unknown Number: He can't protect you anymore.

She opened her mouth to call for Hannah — but another ping silenced her.

Unknown Number: See you soon, Mia.