Maya gripped the note so tightly the paper tore in her fist. The words burned into her mind, the blood on the jersey still staining her vision. Her phone sat silent in her pocket after that last text. Sweet dreams, Maya.
He knew her name. Her real name.
She couldn't hide anymore. Not from the killer, not from Ethan.
One night. Chen gave me one night.
Maya knew where he'd be. Ethan always went to the training room after a bad day, working through whatever was eating at him with weights and silence.
She found him there, tying his cleats in the corner. The room was empty except for them, fluorescent lights humming overhead. His shoulders stiffened when the door opened, tensed further when he saw her.
"Ethan." Her voice shook.
He didn't look up. "Don't."
"Please. I need to talk to you."
"We have nothing to talk about." His hands moved mechanically, tying laces with sharp, angry movements.
