The sun rose gently over the small coastal town where Ayla had started a new life.
She'd chosen this place for its quiet the sound of the sea, the gulls, the endless stretch of calm that promised peace. For weeks, it had almost worked.
She'd found work at a local flower shop, her laughter slowly returning with each sunrise.
The shop smelled of roses and salt air, and for the first time in years, her reflection didn't look afraid.
"Morning, Ayla," called out Mira, the owner a kind woman with tired eyes and a warm heart. "Delivery came early. Can you sort the lilies?"
Ayla smiled softly. "Of course."
But as she reached for the box, a small chill ran down her spine.
Inside, tucked between the lilies, was a single black rose.
There was no note. No message.
Just the flower one she knew all too well.
Her breath hitched. The world seemed to spin for a moment.
No one in this town should know. No one could.
"Everything alright?" Mira asked, noticing the color drain from Ayla's face.
"Yes," Ayla lied, forcing a smile. "Just… the thorns. Pricked my finger."
She turned away quickly, wrapping the black rose in paper, hiding it deep in the trash. But even after it was gone, she could still feel its presence cold, mocking, familiar.
That night, when she returned to her small rented apartment, she found an envelope slid under the door.
No name. No stamp.
Just her handwriting perfectly imitated.
"You can't hide from yourself."
Her hands shook.
The walls that had once felt safe now pressed in, suffocating. She locked every door, checked every corner but found nothing.
Outside, unseen in the rain, someone watched from a parked car.
Damien didn't need to chase her anymore.
He just needed her to believe he was everywhere.