Chapter 2: Framed by the Girl I Loved

I quickly pulled out my phone, aimed the camera through a crack in the closet door, and hit record.

My hands shook a little, but I got the shot. I wanted every second on film—proof for later, ammunition for the breakup.

Ready to catch the evidence.

I held my breath, making sure the camera was steady. This was the moment everything hinged on.

Lillian was so wild she was already panting before anything even started, leaving Travis a little flustered. “How about we shower first?”

He sounded nervous, trying to slow things down. I almost laughed—Travis, the unflappable, finally out of his depth.

“No, I can’t wait any longer~”

Her voice was breathy, desperate. I’d never seen her like this. Honestly, it made my skin crawl.

Lillian whispered in Travis’s ear, blushing as she said shyly, “I want it now…”

Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes wild. She looked like a different person—hungry, almost feral.

I muttered under my breath—slut. Petty, I know.

I felt a surge of disgust, mixed with something like jealousy. It was petty, but I couldn’t help it. I’d set this up, but seeing her like that with someone else stung.

If I’d known she was like this, I wouldn’t have needed to set this up. She probably would’ve jumped at the next guy on her own.

Regret twisted in my gut. Maybe I’d misjudged her from the start.

Hearing this, Travis didn’t hesitate and went along with her.

He grinned, playing his part. I could see the calculation in his eyes—he was in control, or so he thought.

Even as they kissed, Lillian’s hands were busy. She reached for Travis’s belt, but instead of undoing it, her hand moved onto the bed.

It was a subtle shift, but something about it felt off. I leaned in, squinting to see what she was doing.

No, not his belt—her hand was moving toward her purse.

She fished around, her fingers moving quickly, like she knew exactly what she was looking for. My pulse quickened.

I was a little curious and zoomed the camera in, aiming at the bag.

The phone lens trembled as I tried to get a better angle. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

The next second, Lillian suddenly pulled her hand out, holding a claw hammer, and swung it at Travis’s temple!

It was so fast I almost missed it. One second, they were tangled together, the next—she was swinging that hammer with a look of absolute calm.

It all happened in a flash.

There was a sickening crunch, a spray of blood, and then silence. Travis didn’t even have time to scream.

“Uh…”

He managed a single, strangled sound, more shock than pain. His eyes went wide, mouth open in a silent plea.

Travis’s pupils widened, his body convulsed, and he collapsed stiffly onto the bed.

His whole body jerked, then went limp. The bed creaked under his weight, the sheets already stained. I stared, frozen.

His temple had caved in, blood blooming like a dark flower.

The blood spread in slow motion, soaking into the white duvet, turning it a deep, ugly red. I could smell the iron in the air, sharp and metallic.

Lillian… killed him!

My brain refused to process it. One minute I was just trying to break up with my girlfriend. The next—I was an accomplice to murder.

My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly dropped my phone.

My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the phone onto the closet floor. My breath came in shallow gasps.

Travis is dead!

The words echoed in my mind, unreal, impossible. Travis—my friend, my wingman—gone in a heartbeat.

My first instinct? Call the cops.

I fumbled for my phone, desperate to dial 911, to get someone—anyone—here. But my fingers wouldn’t work.

But no. That wouldn’t work.

Reality slammed into me. I couldn’t call for help. I was in the room, hidden in a closet, fingerprints everywhere. The hammer, the camera, the plan—all of it pointed straight at me.

If I made a sound, I might be next. She had a weapon. I couldn’t face her head-on.

I pressed myself against the back wall, trying to make myself invisible. Every breath felt like it might give me away.

Texting was my best bet!

If I could get a message out—maybe someone could help. My mind raced through my contacts, looking for a lifeline.

Just as I opened my messaging app, I heard her voice. Her first words made my blood run cold.

“So boring. I wonder if my little boyfriend could survive a second blow?”

Her voice was flat, almost bored. Like she’d just finished a chore and was already thinking about what to do next. My blood turned to ice.

She wants to kill me too!

It was suddenly clear—this wasn’t about Travis. I was next on her list. The closet felt like a coffin.

Blood splattered across Lillian’s face from how close she was. Her smile looked twisted and chilling.

She wiped at the blood like it was nothing. Like she’d just spilled some wine. Her lips curled into a smile that made my skin crawl.

My limbs went numb as I hurried to type out a message. The next second, my phone suddenly lit up with an incoming call.

Lillian was calling!

Her name flashed on the screen, the ringtone blaring in the silence. I froze, terrified she’d hear it.

My heart pounded wildly. I swallowed, trying not to make a sound.

I pressed my hand over my mouth. Please don’t hear me.

I couldn’t let her find me!

I turned the phone to silent, barely daring to breathe. My fingers trembled as I clutched it tight.

Earlier, because of the plan, I’d been ignoring her calls and texts. So now, I held my breath, waiting for the call to end on its own.

I watched the screen, counting down the seconds, willing it to go to voicemail. Sweat dripped down my temple.

While I waited, I watched Lillian through the closet crack.

She moved around the room with eerie calm, like she’d done this a hundred times before. I felt like a trapped animal, powerless.

I saw her pull a silicone… hand mold out of her bag.

At first, I didn’t recognize it. Pale, rubbery—looked like some weird art project.

What was she going to do with that?

My mind spun with possibilities, none of them good. Was it a weapon? Some kind of sick trophy?

The thing looked familiar, but I couldn’t place it right away.

Then it clicked. The shape, the color—it was a copy of my hand. My stomach dropped.

Lillian listened to her phone while wiping fingerprints off the hammer, then used the silicone hand mold to press onto the hammer.

She was methodical, careful. She pressed the mold against the handle, rolling it back and forth. I realized, too late, what she was doing. Shit.

That’s when it hit me!

The memory slammed into me—making those stupid hand molds together, laughing over the mess. Now, it was coming back to haunt me.

We’d made plaster hand molds together before—this silicone one was an exact copy of mine!

I could picture it—her giggling as she poured the silicone, me holding my hand still. I never thought she’d use it like this.

She was putting my fingerprints on the hammer.

It was brilliant, horrifying. She was framing me for Travis’s murder, and there was nothing I could do.

That bitch Lillian wants to frame me!

Rage and terror warred in my chest. I wanted to scream, to burst out and stop her, but fear pinned me in place.

The call finally ended. I regretted not recording that scene, but I could only hope to catch more evidence next.

I was too slow. Missed my chance.

But just as I switched back to video, Lillian texted me.

[Jackson, I was wrong. Will you come back? I’ve got a surprise for you at Crestview Hotel.]

[Room 404 (shy emoji).]

Her tone was sweet, innocent, like nothing had happened. It made my skin crawl.

I didn’t open it right away, trying to calm myself down.

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Panic wouldn’t help me now.

In this situation, I couldn’t call the cops.

I ran through every possible scenario. No matter what, I was screwed. My fingerprints, my plan, my presence—all of it was damning.

My fingerprints. On the murder weapon.

I could see the headlines already: LOCAL MAN ARRESTED IN HOTEL SLAYING. My parents would never believe I was innocent.

I’d recorded some video earlier, but the last part was zoomed in, only catching Lillian reaching into her bag and pulling something out. The moment she killed Travis was off camera—no footage.

I cursed myself. All that planning, and I missed the one shot that mattered.

Damn! I wanted to throw my phone, to scream, to run. But I couldn’t move. I was trapped.

With just that, if the cops came, I’d be the prime suspect. I could end up behind bars myself.

I pictured myself in an orange jumpsuit, explaining to a jury that I was just there to catch my girlfriend cheating. Who would believe me?

My mind finally cleared a bit, and I replied to Lillian:

[I just got back to Maple Heights. Let’s grab something to eat first, then head to the hotel.]

I forced my hands to steady, typed out the message like nothing was wrong. Play it cool, I told myself. Buy some time.

Thinking it over, I added: [Let’s talk first.]

I figured if I could lure her out of the hotel, I’d have a chance to clean up the scene, wipe my prints, and get the hell out.

All that mattered was getting her out of here so I could wipe my prints and get the hell out.

It was a long shot, but it was all I had.

She was typing, but no message came through for a long time.

Every second stretched out, my nerves fraying. What was she planning?

I squinted through the closet crack to check on Lillian.

She was pacing, phone in hand, her face a mask of concentration. I tried to read her lips, but she was too far away.

Travis, who was lying limp on the bed, suddenly twisted his neck, staring at me with bulging eyes!

For a split second, I thought he was alive. My heart stopped, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead.

It even looked like he was smiling…

His lips were pulled back in a grotesque grin, eyes fixed on the closet. I almost screamed.

I shivered in terror.

My whole body went cold, my hands shaking uncontrollably. This was a nightmare.

Luckily, the closet had spare bedding. I leaned against a standing pillow, making hardly any noise.

I pressed myself deeper into the shadows, praying I wouldn’t be noticed.

Looking closer at Travis, I realized—

The angle was wrong. His neck was twisted at an impossible angle, his head lolling over the edge of the bed.

His head bent at some freaky angle, his neck limp, hanging over the bed’s edge.

It was gruesome, unnatural. There was no way he was still alive.

His neck must’ve broken, so there was no support.

That explained the way his head flopped when Lillian moved him. It was like his body was just a puppet now.

That’s why his neck twisted so creepily just now.

The muscles had given out, nothing left to hold him together. The horror of it made me want to vomit.

But something felt off.

I replayed the scene in my head. Something wasn’t right.

I replayed the scene in my mind, and a sudden realization struck me.

I saw it all again—the speed, the precision, the force. It was too perfect.

Something was definitely wrong!

I’d watched enough true crime to know: murders are messy, chaotic. This was… surgical.

The problem was Lillian—she was way too professional.

She didn’t panic, didn’t flinch. She moved with purpose, every step calculated. It was terrifying.

So professional it was almost... unnatural.

She and Travis had been hugging, and she struck his temple from the side with the hammer.

That’s not a position where you can use much force.

A man might pull it off, but for an average woman, it’s almost impossible to kill someone with one blow like that.

But Lillian was fast, precise, and ruthless—not only caving in his temple, but hitting so hard his neck broke too.

The odds of that happening by accident were slim to none. She knew exactly what she was doing.

And her choice of weapon was clever.

Most people think of knives or guns, but a hammer? That’s a killer’s tool. Quiet, effective, easy to hide.

A friend of mine who did time once told me: killing is easy, but dealing with the body is hard. Anyone who’s killed knows a hammer is a deadly weapon.

He used to say, “If you want to make a mess, use a gun. If you want to make a point, use a hammer.” I always thought he was joking.

One blow to the head can kill instantly. Not much blood.

It’s the kind of thing you only learn from experience. The thought made my skin crawl.

Travis died, and aside from a little blood on Lillian’s face, there was almost none at the scene.

She’d even angled the blow to minimize the spray. It was chilling how careful she was.

This woman was seriously abnormal!

I started to wonder if she was even human. No one should be that calm after a kill.

A terrifying thought crept into my mind—what if I was the prey from the very start, and Lillian was the hunter?

Maybe this was never about me. Maybe I was just the next name on her list.

The thought sent chills down my spine.

My hands shook so hard I almost dropped my phone again. I wanted to run, to scream, but I couldn’t move.

Just then, Lillian sent two messages in a row:

[Okay, I’ll eat with you first, then we’ll go to the hotel.]

[Where are you? I’ll come find you~]

Her tone was playful, almost flirty. It was like she was playing a game only she knew the rules to.

I took a deep breath, put on a cheerful face, and replied with the name of a barbecue joint more than six miles away.

Big Mike’s Smokehouse. Way across town. Anything to buy time.

Lillian: [Wait for me, I’ll come after I shower.]

She added a little heart emoji, like we were just two lovers making dinner plans. It made my stomach turn.

After replying, Lillian went to the bathroom.

I heard the door click shut, the sound of running water. My window was open, but not enough to slip out. I had to act fast.

She probably had blood on her face or body—she needed to clean up.

I pictured her in the mirror, humming as she scrubbed away the blood. It made me shiver.

I was on edge. Only after I heard the shower running did I start getting ready to sneak out.

I gathered my courage, inching toward the closet door. Every creak sounded like a gunshot.

Just as I was about to slip my phone into my pocket, the screen lit up.

My heart skipped a beat. Was it her? Was she onto me?

Suddenly, a news alert popped up:

[Police report: Three murder cases from three months ago have now been linked. Citizens, please stay alert. The killer’s weapon is a claw hammer and remains at large. Avoid going out alone at night!]

The words burned into my brain. Claw hammer. Three months ago. I felt sick.

My pupils shrank in fear.

I gripped the phone so tight my knuckles turned white. I could barely breathe.

Three months ago—that’s when I met Lillian!

The timeline matched up. I’d met her right when the killings started. Coincidence?

And the murder weapon is a claw hammer!

I felt like the room was closing in on me. Everything was connected, and I was right in the middle of it.

Did I hook up with a serial killer?

The thought was too much to handle. I wanted to run, to disappear, to turn back time and undo every decision that brought me here.

My heart nearly exploded. I had to get out—now.

I steeled myself, ready to make a break for it. This was my only chance.

Just as I reached for the closet door—

The sound of the shower suddenly stopped.

Panic shot through me. I froze, hand on the doorknob, barely daring to breathe.

Someone came out of the bathroom…

I pressed myself against the wall, praying she wouldn’t notice the closet door was ajar.

Lillian walked out wearing a face mask.

It was almost comical, if it weren’t so terrifying. She looked like a ghost, her eyes cold and sharp above the white mask.

Wait—she didn’t shower?

Her hair was still dry, her clothes spotless. She’d just washed her face, nothing more.

Judging by her appearance, she probably just washed her face. Under the white mask, her eyes looked icy cold.

She moved with slow, deliberate steps, scanning the room for any sign of disturbance.

She stood by the door, scanning the room—slow, careful, like a snake.

Her gaze swept over every surface, lingering on the bed, the closet, the curtains. I held my breath, willing myself invisible.

Then she picked up the claw hammer from the bed, flipping it over. She’d killed Travis with the hammer’s head, but now the claw side was facing out.

She inspected the hammer, running her fingers along the handle, almost admiring her handiwork. The claw glinted in the light.

Lillian walked quietly, slowly placing her hand on the closet door.

I felt the air go still. My heart hammered in my chest. If she opened that door, I was done for.

I held my breath, pressing my hand over my chest, terrified my pounding heart would give me away.

I counted each beat, praying she couldn’t hear it from the other side of the door.

Finally, Lillian pulled her hand back.

A wave of relief washed over me, but I didn’t dare move.

“So the coat’s on the bed.”

She muttered it under her breath, as if reassuring herself. I almost sighed out loud.

Then she turned and walked toward the bed.

Her footsteps faded, and I let myself breathe again, just a little.

I let out a silent sigh of relief.

My whole body sagged, muscles shaking with adrenaline.

Suddenly, Lillian spun around lightning-fast, yanked open the closet, and slammed the claw hammer down!

I didn’t even have time to react. The hammer tore through the pillow where my head had been seconds before, feathers exploding in a white cloud.

Rip!

The sound was deafening in the small space. I bit my tongue to keep from screaming.

The velvet pillow was torn open, white goose feathers spilling out.

Feathers drifted down like snow, settling on the carpet, the bed, my shoes. I watched them, frozen in place.

“No one?”

Her voice was sharp, annoyed. She sounded genuinely disappointed.

Lillian frowned. “Am I being too paranoid?”

She shook her head, muttering. Her shoulders were tense.

I was hiding behind the curtains, secretly grateful I’d switched hiding spots. If I hadn’t, that hammer blow would’ve crippled me—if not killed me.

I pressed myself flat against the wall, barely daring to move. The curtains hid me well, but I knew it was only a matter of time.

After making sure no one was there, Lillian tapped her phone, grabbed her makeup bag, and went back to the bathroom.

She moved like nothing was wrong. Like it was just another day.

She was putting on makeup.

I pictured her in front of the mirror, dabbing concealer over the blood, fixing her lipstick. It was surreal.

I hadn’t noticed my phone light up until then—Lillian had just sent me a message.

The screen glowed in the darkness, her name like a warning.

[Jackson, hurry to the hotel and help me!]

The message was urgent, pleading. I knew it was a trap.

Below was a photo.

My hands shook as I opened it, bracing myself for the worst.

A first-person shot—her sitting on the bathroom floor, legs pulled in, water on the tiles tinged red.

She’d made it look like she was hurt, the water tinted with blood. It was all for show.

She was pretending to be hurt!

I almost laughed at the audacity. She was luring me in, playing the victim. It was a sick game.

My heart sank. It looked like Lillian was determined not to leave the hotel, just waiting for me to show up.

I knew then—I was never meant to leave this room alive.

But if she wouldn’t leave, how could I escape?

Every exit felt blocked. The door, the window, the very air itself.

While I was stuck, my other close friend, Marcus Hill, messaged me.

The notification was a lifeline, a sliver of hope in the darkness.

[Jack, Golden Age tonight?]

Golden Age. Our regular dive. Sticky floors, cheap drinks.

Travis, Marcus, and I were known as the “Three Musketeers”—super close. Golden Age was our usual bar.

We’d spent countless nights there, swapping stories, chasing girls, pretending we were still in college.

Seeing Marcus’s message felt like grabbing a lifeline.

I almost cried with relief. Someone out there was still normal, still alive.

I replied immediately: [Marcus, hurry to Crestview Hotel and find an excuse to get the person in 404 out.]

My fingers flew across the screen, desperate for help. I didn’t care how crazy it sounded.

Marcus: [Jack, what’s going on?]

He’d never seen me panic before. I could imagine the confusion on his face.

[Things went wrong. The girl I picked up last time is a damn murderer. I’m trapped in 404,] I quickly typed.

No time for details.

Marcus replied instantly: [Bro, shouldn’t you call the cops? Let them handle it.]

He was right, of course. But it was too late for that.

[No, this woman killed Travis, cleaned up the scene, and is trying to frame me,] I typed as fast as I could. [Let me get rid of the evidence first.]

I prayed he’d understand, that he wouldn’t think I was crazy.

Marcus was probably shocked: [Travis is dead!]

I could picture him staring at his phone, mouth open, trying to process it.

[Yeah, hurry or I’m dead too.]

I wanted to scream, to beg him to move faster.

I was desperate, urging him again.

Every second felt like an hour. I watched the bathroom door, waiting for Lillian to reappear.

Marcus went quiet for a bit, then replied:

[Wait, Jack, which girl from last time are you talking about?]

I blinked, confused. What did he mean?

I answered: [Who else? The ice-cold beauty from three months ago.]

There was only one Lillian. Or so I thought.

This time, Marcus took a couple minutes before replying:

[Didn’t the woman from three months ago already die?]

The words didn’t make sense at first. I read them twice, three times, trying to understand.

Lillian is dead!

The idea hit me like a punch to the gut. I looked at the bathroom door, my blood running cold.

I shuddered, stiffly turning my head to peek out from behind the curtain.

I could see the outline of her figure, moving behind the frosted glass. Was she real?

The bathroom light was on, and there was movement.

Her shadow flickered, tall and thin. I felt like I was watching a horror movie, except I was the victim.

If Lillian is dead, then who’s in the bathroom?

My mind raced through every possibility—twin, imposter, ghost. None of them made sense.

I took a deep breath and typed:

[Dead my ass. Am I seeing a ghost? Who told you that?]

I tried to keep my tone light, but my hands shook so badly I could barely type.

Marcus replied: [I just saw the news and was about to tell you. That serial killer—the first victim was that ‘ice-cold beauty.’]

The words blurred on the screen. I felt like I was going to faint.

The serial killer’s first victim… was Lillian? No way. That couldn’t be.

My whole world tilted. I clung to the curtain, trying to steady myself.

My mind almost crashed. I hurried to find the earlier news alert.

I scrolled through my notifications, desperate for answers.

I quickly scanned the article.

The details were gruesome—three victims, all killed with a claw hammer. The first was a woman, described as an ‘ice-cold beauty.’

Soon, I found the victim photos: an adult woman, an adult man, and a teenage boy.

Even with their eyes pixelated, I recognized Lillian instantly.

I stared at the photo, my mind refusing to accept it. That was her—no doubt about it.

The report said she’d already been dismembered—cut into twenty-five pieces. Jesus.

My stomach churned. The details were too specific, too horrific. How could she be alive?

This was just too bizarre.

I felt like I’d stepped into a nightmare, where nothing made sense and the rules kept changing.

I forced myself to calm down and messaged:

[Marcus, just hurry up and find a way to get the woman in 404 out.]

I didn’t care who she was anymore. I just wanted to survive.

Even though Lillian was in the bathroom, I didn’t dare move. Not only was the bathroom right by the door, but there was another detail I’d missed until now.

I remembered the sound of the lock clicking, the way she’d double-checked it before starting with Travis. There was no easy way out.

After they came in, she locked the door behind them.

The deadbolt was still engaged. Even if I made a run for it, she’d catch me before I got it open.

If I tried to run now, I’d never get the door open before she caught me.

I pictured her standing behind me, hammer raised, ready to finish what she started.

If Marcus couldn’t help, I had a backup plan. Wait until Lillian went to the bathroom, then bolt. The claw hammer was still next to Travis.

It was risky, but it was better than waiting to die. I just had to time it right.

It was riskier than plan A, but at least I’d have a weapon. No matter how tough Lillian was, she was still a woman—I refused to believe I’d be totally overpowered.

I tried to psych myself up, reminding myself that fear could only hold me back so long.

But now, Lillian’s identity was just too weird.

The idea of fighting a ghost—or whatever she was—made my skin crawl. But I’d take my chances.

She might not even be alive.

If she was a ghost, maybe she couldn’t be killed. Maybe I was already doomed.

If she was something supernatural, showing myself would be suicide.

I pressed myself deeper into the curtain, barely daring to breathe. I was in way over my head.

The thought left my mind spinning.

I tried to steady myself, counting backwards from ten. It didn’t help.

Aren’t people supposed to get a rush of adrenaline and dopamine in desperate situations? Supposed to get super hyped, able to do anything?

I’d always thought I’d be the hero in a crisis, the guy who rises to the occasion. Turns out, I was just as scared as anyone else.

But I was so panicked my legs were shaking, fear overwhelming me, with zero will to fight back.

My teeth chattered. My hands went numb. I couldn’t move.

After a while, Marcus replied:

[No, bro, are you trying to get me killed?]

He chickened out. Can’t blame him.

I tried to reassure him: [There are cameras in the hallway. She wouldn’t dare kill you. Just don’t go inside.]

I hoped that would convince him, but I wasn’t holding my breath.

[Bro, if she’s really a ghost, would she care about cameras?]

He had a point. Cameras wouldn’t stop the dead.

I gritted my teeth. [Then do this: pretend to be a delivery guy, call her, and get her to come downstairs to pick it up.]

It was a last-ditch effort, but it was all I had.

He must have hesitated for a while.

I watched the dots on the screen, praying he’d say yes.

Marcus finally replied:

[Fine.]

Relief washed over me. Maybe I had a chance after all.

I waited quietly behind the curtain.

Every sound was magnified, every minute stretched into eternity.

To keep Lillian from getting suspicious, I replied to her earlier message:

[I’m on my way. Is it serious? Did you call 911?]

I tried to sound concerned, like a boyfriend rushing to the rescue.

Then I added: [I ordered takeout—your favorite matcha ice cream mochi. It should be delivered soon.]

It was a gamble, but maybe it’d buy me some time.

Luckily, the curtain wasn’t drawn tight, and the fabric was bunched up, making it look bulky. I was able to hide my whole body inside, so there weren’t any obvious gaps.

I pressed my knees to my chest, tucking myself into the smallest possible space. Every inch mattered.

The bed was close to the curtain. From the other side, the bottom was a blind spot. I just had to hope Lillian stayed away.

I listened for her footsteps, praying she’d stay away.

Finally, after a tense ten minutes.

It felt like hours, my nerves stretched to the breaking point.

Lillian’s phone rang.

The sound was shrill, echoing in the quiet room. I held my breath.

But then she said something that made my heart sink.

“I’m not buying a condo.”

Her voice was flat, annoyed. She hung up without another word.

Lillian said this and hung up right away.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I knew she was getting suspicious.

What made it worse was that her footsteps were getting closer and closer…

Each step was soft. Deliberate. I could hear her clothes rustle, her shoes tapping on the carpet.

The sound was soft, but in the quiet room, it was as ominous as a death knell.

Every muscle in my body tensed. I pressed myself tighter into the curtain, praying to every god I could remember.

Step by step.

She was almost on top of me now. I could smell her perfume—jasmine and something darker.

She walked to the window. The curtain’s folds looked like layers from my hiding spot.

I could see the shadow of her hand, reaching out to touch the fabric, fingers trailing along the seam.

Through the window’s reflection, I saw—she was less than six feet away.

My heart hammered so loud I was sure she could hear it. I squeezed my eyes shut, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Right then, even breathing felt like a crime.

I didn’t dare move, didn’t dare hope. In that moment, I understood what it meant to be prey—helpless, terrified, waiting for the end.