BROOKLYN stumbled out of bed, her eyes half-closed against the harsh glow of her digital clock. It was 6:47 AM, the start of another dreary Monday. She shuffled to the bathroom, her thoughts as murky as the half-lit room. The worn-out flip-flops slapped the cold tile floor, echoing through the quiet apartment. She squinted at her reflection in the mirror, a sleepy ghost in a wrinkled T-shirt. Her hair was a tangled mess, a wild halo around her pale face.
As she reached for her toothpaste, she caught a glimpse of something red and jolting. She blinked, trying to convince herself it was a trick of the light. But there it was, stark and unmistakable: "Killer" written across the mirror. Her heart hammered in her chest, the sudden surge of adrenaline snapping her fully awake. The blood looked fresh, almost wet, like someone had just finished writing it moments before she walked in. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her mouth to stifle a scream.
"Oh my god," she whispered, her voice shaking. The words barely left her mouth before she whipped around, her eyes darting around the small room.
Logan, her boyfriend of three years, tried to peek in, his concerned face appearing in the crack of the door. "Lynn, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice thick with sleep. But she was already in survival mode, her hand shooting up to keep him at bay. "Don't come in," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper.
"What the hell?" he exclaimed, pushing the door open despite her warning. His eyes followed her trembling finger to the mirror, and his face drained of color. The air grew thick with horror as the gravity of the situation settled in the room.
Brooklyn's hand trembled as she reached for a towel, her eyes never leaving the crimson message. "It's just a stupid joke," she whispered, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Her voice was shaky, a stark contrast to the firmness she attempted to project. She swiped at the blood, but the letters remained, the crimson smearing under the pressure of the fabric. Icy fear slithered down her spine.
Logan's eyes narrowed, his mind racing. "No, this isn't a joke. It's either A or Wilden," he said, his voice tight with accusation."Someone was in your house while we slept, and we need to call the police," he continued, his voice now urgent.
Brooklyn's thoughts spun like a tornado. "No cops," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I am going to be late. We have to see Spencer in Radley."
Logan's hand hovered in the air, his fingers twitching as he realized she was in shock. He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to her again, but she flinched away from his touch. "Lynn," he said, softer this time.
