I stumble backward, away from the mirror, my breath coming in ragged bursts. The weight of the silence presses against my chest, and I feel like the room is alive, like the walls are closing in on me. The voice—that soft, twisted version of Tyler's voice—is gone, but the suffocating sense of being watched remains, crawling under my skin.

I can't trust it. I can't trust anything anymore.

Max is barking uncontrollably now, his frantic yelps cutting through the oppressive quiet. I run my hands through my hair, trying to pull myself back, trying to make sense of what just happened. My reflection in the mirror shows me a pale, terrified version of myself—someone I barely recognize. My face is gaunt, my eyes wide and glassy. I look like someone who's lost everything. Maybe I have.

I turn away from the mirror, unable to look at it anymore, and collapse onto the bed. My body is trembling, my mind racing, but I can't seem to focus on a single thought. Everything is tangled, too knotted up inside me to make sense of.

Tyler was there—I saw him. His voice was in the room, echoing out of that mirror like a sick, twisted parody of the man I once loved. But that wasn't really him. I know it wasn't. I can feel it. Tyler wouldn't do this to me. He wouldn't hurt me like this.

Would he?

I grab the letter from the floor—the one Tyler left behind, warning me not to trust him. I read it again, my hands trembling as I trace the familiar handwriting, the words that now seem so much heavier than before.

Don't trust me

A sob escapes me, sharp and unexpected. The weight of it all crashes down on me, the grief, the fear, the suffocating sense of loss that has consumed my life since Tyler died. I feel like I'm drowning, like there's no way out of this darkness. And the one person I would have turned to for comfort—for safety—is the same person who seems to be haunting me now.

Max quiets down, his barking turning into low, anxious whines as he presses his body against mine. I hold him close, burying my face in his fur, trying to ground myself in something real, something tangible. Max is the only thing that feels solid, the only thing that hasn't changed. But even he's afraid. I can feel it in the way his body trembles, the way he looks toward the mirror as if something is still lurking there.

I can't stay in this apartment. Not like this. Not after everything I've seen, everything I've heard.

I grab my phone off the nightstand, my fingers shaking as I scroll through my contacts. Chloe's name pops up on the screen. I haven't spoken to her in days, haven't responded to her calls or texts. She's probably worried sick about me. Maybe it's time to let someone in, to stop hiding from the people who care about me.

But the moment my thumb hovers over her name, the phone buzzes.

Another voicemail.

I freeze, my pulse quickening. It's from an unknown number—again. I stare at the notification, my heart racing in my chest. I already know what it is. I already know who it's from. I don't want to listen to it. I don't want to hear his voice again, that twisted, broken version of Tyler that's been haunting me. But my fingers move on their own, pressing play.

The static crackles first, just like before. Then, slowly, Tyler's voice emerges through the distortion, faint but clear enough to make my skin crawl.

"Ettie..." His voice is softer this time, more broken. It sounds like he's pleading with me, like he's begging. "Please... find me..."

My breath catches, the tears already welling in my eyes. I can't do this anymore. I can't keep hearing his voice, calling out to me from beyond the grave, asking for something I don't understand.

"I'm so cold, Ettie. So cold... I need you..."

The voicemail cuts off abruptly, leaving only the ringing silence in its wake.

I drop the phone, my hands shaking violently, my breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I need you. Those words repeat in my mind, over and over, like a broken record. Tyler's voice—his real voice—is gone, replaced by something hollow, something dark.

I don't know what to believe anymore. Is he trapped somewhere? Is this really Tyler, reaching out to me, or is it something else entirely, using his memory to manipulate me? The more I think about it, the more confused I become. My grief has warped everything, blurred the lines between what's real and what's not.

Max whines softly beside me, his eyes still fixed on the mirror. I glance at it, half-expecting to see Tyler's reflection staring back at me again. But the mirror is empty now, just a cold, flat surface reflecting my fear.

I can't do this anymore.

I stand up, shaking with adrenaline and fear, and quickly sprint toward the door. I grab my coat off the chair and Max's leash, my mind spinning with thoughts of escape. I need to leave. I need to get out of this apartment, out of this nightmare, before it consumes me completely.

But as I reach for the door, something stops me.

A sound.

Soft, barely audible at first, but unmistakable.

Knocking.

Three slow, deliberate knocks from the hallway closet.

I freeze, my hand still gripping the doorknob, my heart pounding in my chest. The knocking comes again, louder this time, more insistent.

I turn slowly, my eyes fixed on the closet door. The same closet where I found Tyler's letters, where I've felt his presence the most. My stomach twists with dread as the knocking continues, steady and rhythmic, like something—or someone—is trying to get out.

My body moves on its own, as if I'm being pulled toward the closet by an invisible force. I can't stop myself. I know I should run, I know I should leave, but I can't. Something inside me needs to know. Needs to understand.

I reach for the closet door, my hand trembling as I wrap my fingers around the cold metal handle. The knocking stops. I hesitate for a moment, my pulse racing, my mind screaming at me to turn back, to stop. But I pull the door open.

The closet is empty.

I stand there, staring into the dark, cramped space, my breath coming in shallow gasps. The air is freezing, colder than the rest of the apartment, and there's a faint smell—something musty, old. But nothing else. No sign of Tyler. No sign of anything out of the ordinary.

But as I step closer, I see something on the floor.

A shoe.

One of Tyler's basketball sneakers, worn and familiar. The same pair he wore on our last walk together, the same ones I packed away after the funeral. They were gone. Disappeared. I hadn't seen them since.

Yet here they are. Sitting in the closet. Like they've been waiting for me. My hands tremble as I reach down, my fingers brushing against the worn black leather of the shoe. It's real. It's here.

Suddenly, the air in the closet shifts. It grows heavier, colder, the oppressive weight pressing down on me again. I stumble back, my breath catching in my throat as the shadows around me seem to grow darker, more alive.

And then, out of the silence, I hear it.

A voice. Tyler's voice. But this time, it's not a whisper. It's clear. Loud. Terrifying.

"Don't trust it, Ettie!"

I jump, spinning around, my heart slamming against my ribs. The room is empty. The apartment is still.

But I know what I heard. I know what Tyler said.

I collapse onto the floor, my body trembling, tears streaming down my face. I don't understand what's happening. I don't know what's real anymore. But I do know one thing.

Whatever this thing is—whatever's been following me, haunting me—it's not Tyler.

It never was.