"I... don't know," he said, his voice thick with something darker, something dangerous. "But I've been seeing him too."
The room felt colder now, the evening shadows stretching across the walls as Clara's gaze never left the figure outside. The man didn't move. He simply stood there, waiting, his presence unnerving in the stillness of the night. Her pulse quickened, but it wasn't just fear of the stranger outside—it was the creeping realization that something was wrong with the man beside her, the man she had once known so well.
She looked at him, her breath catching in her throat, suddenly aware of the strange way his eyes glinted in the low light. There was no warmth in them now, only a coldness that sent a chill down her spine. He was watching her with an intensity that made her stomach twist. The silence between them stretched, taut and heavy, and for the first time in years, Clara felt trapped.
The figure outside didn't move, but the man beside her did. Slowly, deliberately, he stepped closer, a thin smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I've been waiting for this moment," he said, his voice no longer familiar, but laced with a quiet malice. The man outside, the one she thought she knew—he was never real. I am the one who's been here all along.
Clara's heart slammed against her chest, the blood draining from her face as realization hit her with a crushing force. The man in the leather jacket wasn't here to reunite—he wasn't here for answers. He was here for something else entirely, and she had no idea if she could escape it.
