I ran down the stairwell of my apartment building, my breath shaky and uneven. Each step echoed in the stairwell like a countdown. My mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. How could anyone have gotten into my apartment? And worse—how could they not show up in the mirror?
I reached the lobby, bursting through the front doors, and stood on the sidewalk. The cool morning air hit me, but it did little to calm my nerves. I needed to think. I couldn't go back inside. Not yet. Not alone.
I fumbled for my keys, fingers trembling, and managed to unlock my car. I sat in the driver's seat, trying to catch my breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, and I could still feel the fear crawling over my skin.
"Okay, think," I muttered to myself. "Who would do this? Why?"
My phone—still sitting on my nightstand, a chilling reminder of the photo—was the last thing I wanted to retrieve. But I needed it. I couldn't even call for help without it. I had to know if there were more pictures, more clues.
I glanced back at my apartment building. From the outside, it looked perfectly normal, nothing sinister about it. But inside, something had changed. Something I couldn't explain.
I took a deep breath and made a decision. I couldn't stay here. Not without answers. There had to be a logical explanation. A break-in, maybe someone playing a sick joke. But as I replayed the details in my mind—the locked doors, the empty windows, the lack of reflection in the mirror—it all felt impossible.
Before I could think better of it, I started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. I needed to get far away. But as I drove through the quiet streets, my mind kept circling back to one thing.
Who—or what—had been watching me sleep?
And why did it want me to see that photo?
