𝐁𝐨𝐫𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐅𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧, 𝐁𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞

Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Fear

The day started like any other—strong coffee, a cluttered desk, and an inbox bursting with hate mail.

I scrolled through dozens of emails, the words blurring into a mess of rage and grief. Angry readers, most of them furious over the same thing: him. The character I killed off, the one they thought I never should have.

Death threats. Rape threats. Pleas. All because I had the audacity to end the story on my terms. It wasn’t the first time I’d killed a beloved character, but this reaction? It was something else. They took it personally.

The phone rang, interrupting my thoughts. William, my editor. No doubt to relay the chaos.

“Dream,” his voice came through, strained, skipping any greeting, “people are losing their minds. The comment section is out of control, your inbox is a nightmare, and social media? It’s on fire. You’ve got people sending death threats like it’s Halloween.”

I leaned back in my chair, glancing out the window at the dull gray sky. “Sounds about right. They’ll get over it.”

William groaned. “No, you don’t understand. This is next-level. I’ve been getting messages too, Dream. Some of these people think he’s real. They’re acting like you killed off an actual person.”

I couldn’t help but smile, the corners of my mouth twitching with amusement. “Maybe I did.”

“Don’t joke about this!” William’s exasperation seeped through the line. “We’ve handled hate before, but this... this is dangerous. Are you sure you won’t consider bringing him back? A loophole, a rewrite—anything to calm these people down.”

My smile widened, though William couldn’t see it. “He’s dead, Will. End of story. They’ll move on once they get hooked on the next plot twist.”

There was a long pause. “You don’t sound worried at all,” he said, almost incredulous. “Dream, this is serious. These people are unhinged.”

“They’re readers. Passionate readers. That’s what we want, isn’t it?” I swirled the last bit of coffee in my mug, staring at the dark liquid. “Let them rage. It’s good for business.”

William sighed, resigned. “Fine, but be careful. They’re starting to cross the line.”

“I’m always careful,” I said, my tone light, though a faint unease gnawed at the back of my mind.

The call ended, and I tossed the phone aside, my gaze drifting back to the screen. But the words wouldn’t come. That feeling—the one I’d been ignoring all day—crept in again. Like a pair of eyes watching, waiting.

It started subtly, like a nagging whisper at the edge of my consciousness. Shadows flickered at the corner of my vision, but when I turned, there was nothing. Just the quiet hum of the house. Too quiet.

I brushed it off, diving back into my work, forcing myself to focus. But the sensation wouldn’t leave. A shift in the air, the feeling of someone just out of sight. My heart began to race despite myself. This is ridiculous, I thought. I’m alone.

But then I heard it.

A low, almost inaudible voice. At first, I thought it was my mind playing tricks on me. Stress, maybe. Lack of sleep. But it came again, clearer this time, chilling my spine.

“You really thought you could kill me?”

My fingers froze over the keyboard. The voice—it was unmistakable, yet impossible. His voice. No, it can’t be.