Sleep comes fitfully that night. When I close my eyes, the fire returns. Smoke curls around me like it's alive, flames licking my skin. I remember every detail—the heat, the fear, the crackling sound as the house collapsed around me.
Then the doorway. That shadow. Silent, watching, letting me die.
And the hands. Strong hands that pulled me from the flames. Safety. Someone saved me when everything else wanted me gone.
I wake in a cold sweat, heart hammering. My phone buzzes. Unknown number.
The one who tried to kill you is planning again. Remember what you learned in the fire.
I stare at the screen, hands shaking. He knows. He knows everything. The fear and adrenaline from the fire mix with the thrill of being watched and protected. I realize that the danger is real. The fire wasn't just an accident, and my survival was no miracle—it was a warning.
I can feel him, somewhere out there in the city, tracking every move. Protecting me. Waiting. The thought sends shivers down my spine. And I can't help smiling despite myself. The slow burn is growing. Fear and desire tangled together.
I type back quickly, sarcasm mixed with nerves: You know, for a stranger, you're way too involved in my life.
I'm not a stranger. I'm the one keeping you alive.