3

“I believe people wear different faces depending on who’s watching,” he said. “Change is just a mask that fits better than the last one.”

The words crawled down my spine, I don't know if I agreed—or was terrified.

After he left, I locked the door and locked it again but I don't feel safe. Not from him nor from myself.

The sky turned darker early. Storm clouds rolled in like ink across glass, and the air got that sticky heaviness that said something was coming.

I sat on my bed with my knees pulled to my chest and my laptop open in front of me. I should be watching something to distract myself—old procedural reruns, maybe but instead, I opened the case files from L.A.

I told myself I deleted them but that was a lie. I kept them, every photo, every report and every details of what went wrong.

And there she was again—Sasha, 17 years old girl found dead in an alley behind a bakery with the same bruising pattern, same locket style with her mouth open and her eyes glassy.

We never caught the killer because three weeks later, my partner disappeared and everything unraveled.

Now, it's happening again. Here.

I pulled up the local news archives—searching “missing girls,” “drowned,” “Seabridge.” The results were sparse, but not empty.

Three girls in the last five years. All tourists. All twenty-something. All chalked up to “unfortunate ocean accidents.”

One of them looked like me with long dark hair, pale skin, strong jaw and quiet smile.

I stared at her picture until it blurred.

Someone was picking girls like me, someone who knows how to cover it up with access and power. Or more terrifying—someone with practice.

I sat back with my heart pounding.

I'm I being paranoid? Or was I finally seeing things clearly?

~

The email hit my inbox at 1:27 AM.

No subject nor sender.

Just a photo attachment.

I hesitated before opening it holding my breath.

It was the same girl from the beach, same necklace and same dead eyes staring right into mine.

But now… there is a second photo, of me, from earlier that day, leaning against Lena’s tattoo shop window with coffee in my hand and my eyes tired, unaware.

Under it was one sentence in plain black font:

"You’re next."

I slammed the laptop shut, my pulse spiking hard enough to make me dizzy.

Outside, the wind picked up then something brushed the window which I froze. My phone buzzed and I grabbed it too fast.

It was an unknown number with no message.

Another buzz. Then another.

Until the screen flashed four missed calls from a Private Number.

I turned it off immediately then sat on the floor until my legs went numb.

The door was locked but somehow, I have never felt more exposed than now.

~

By sunrise, I haven't slept.

My thoughts were spiraling, tangled between Ivy, Damien, the locket, the girl on the shore, the photos and the email…

Everything is wrong and I can’t run this time because I have already tried that.

“You look like hell,” Lena said, tossing a keychain onto her desk as I stepped inside the shop.

“Didn’t sleep.” I tried to smile, it didn’t stick. “Did you… get anything? About the girl?”

She hesitated, just for a blink but I saw it.

“I’m not a cop, Cami. I tattoo drunk tourists and angsty teenagers. I’m not part of this.”

“You said she had a sister,” I pushed. “You saw them together?”

She rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans, like she was wiping something off. “I think so. I mean, I saw the girl once with someone else. Could’ve been a sister or a girlfriend. People keep to themselves around here. I told you what I know.”

Her walls were up again. It pissed me off and scared me because if Lena—my only maybe-friend here—is pulling back, that meant she either didn’t trust me… or she have something to hide.

When I stepped out of Lena’s shop, I saw Damien across the street leaning against a rusted-out black truck with his arms folded, watching me.

I didn’t know how long he have been standing there but it didn’t feel recent. It felt like he's been waiting.

The fog was thinner today, the air sharper. Light cut through the clouds in pale stripes that made everything look dreamlike—until one realized it's just the calm before another storm.

I crossed the street, slowly towards him while his gaze never left me.

“You following me now?” I asked.

“Maybe,” he said.

I hated how much that answer thrilled something dark in me.

He nodded toward Lena’s. “You trust her?”

“I don’t know.” I said.

“She lies when she’s nervous. Did you notice that?” He asked.

“I notice everything.” I replied.

There comes a pause then,

"You look shaken.” He added.

I fully turned towards him. “Someone sent me pictures last night. One of the dead girl and one of me. Said I’m next.”

He stiffened with his jaw clenched. “Did you call the cops?”

“Which ones? The ones who buried the last three murders, or the ones too busy covering their asses to care?”

He didn’t argue.

“I want to help,” he said instead.

“Why?” I asked

His silence said more than any sentence could.

“I don’t need saving,” I added, quietly.

“Maybe not,” he said, voice like smoke. “But you’re about to need protection.”

We walked back to my house in silence.

I shouldn’t have let him inside again but I did.

He stood near the window while I locked the door behind us—double, then deadbolt. My paranoia was in overdrive. I was used to that but now it isn’t just about instinct, It's about evidence, threats, patterns and a killer who saw me.

“You need better lights out front,” he muttered.

“Why?” I asked in confusion.

“There were tracks in your yard.” He added.

I froze.

He looked at me calmly and continue. “Boot prints from last night.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I said.

“Because I didn’t want to scare you.” He added with concern.

“Well, you failed.” I conclude.

He stepped closer with a low voice. “Camille, someone’s watching you and they’re not random nor sloppy. They know how to move and how to stay in shadow.”

My heartbeat spiked.

“Is it you?” I asked, suddenly. Too sharp and loud. “Because you’ve got the whole mysterious loner routine down, like, lurking in corners, showing up with perfect timing and knowing things you shouldn’t.”

Something flickered in his eyes.