Ridge's laughter echoed across the field, warm and carefree. For a moment, it filled my chest with something unfamiliar—lightness. But as I turned to face him, the world shifted. The lush grass beneath my feet blackened, curling into ash. Smoke seeped in from nowhere, thick and acrid, stinging my eyes. Ridge's laughter twisted, contorting into a guttural scream that cut through the haze like a blade.

The field dissolved. Suddenly, I was in a dimly lit flat, the walls damp and grimy, closing in around me. Ridge was there, tied to a chair, his face twisted in pain. A hooded figure loomed over him, their shadow stretching unnaturally long across the walls. In their hand, a barbecue fork glinted in the dim light. They pressed it against Ridge's face, dragging it slowly, deliberately, closer and closer to his eye.

I tried to shout, to move, to do something—but my throat felt clogged with cotton wool, and my limbs were leaden. All I could do was watch, frozen and helpless, as Ridge's screams tore through the smoke-filled air, each one sharper than the last.

The scene shifted again, violently. Now I was alone in an alley, the walls slick with rainwater, the ground beneath me uneven and endless. Amber stood at the far end, her figure barely visible in the shadows. She raised a hand, beckoning me forward, her movements jerky and unnatural.

"Amber!" I screamed, my voice echoing back at me, distant and hollow. I ran toward her, my feet splashing through puddles, my heart pounding. But the alley stretched further and further, keeping her out of reach. My lungs burned as I pushed myself harder, my voice breaking as I called her name again.

She didn't stop. Her outline grew fainter, her presence slipping away like smoke through my fingers. Panic surged in my chest, raw and all-consuming.

And then, just as the darkness swallowed her whole, one thought rose to the surface, cold and unshakable:

What would we do if they couldn't find her?

I  jolted awake, my breath coming in shallow, rapid bursts. For a moment, I couldn't tell where the nightmare ended and reality began. The room around me felt too quiet, too still, as if the darkness from my dream had seeped into the real world. My skin was damp with sweat, my chest tight as though the air had grown heavier. I pressed a hand to my sternum, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of my heart.

I closed my eyes, but the image of the hooded figure and Ridge's scream refused to fade. Each time my eyelids fluttered shut, the faceless figure loomed again, the fork raised, its metallic glint catching the dim light. My heart raced, a sick feeling growing in the pit of my stomach. I turned my head, instinctively seeking reassurance in Ridge's warmth beside me. His breathing was steady, his body curled protectively around mine, but even that wasn't enough to push the nightmare away.

Ridge stirred, his arm tightening around my waist as if sensing my unrest. He pulled me closer, his body a steadying presence against the storm raging inside me. For a moment, I tried to relax, to let the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest lull me into peace. But my mind wouldn't stop. The darkness between us—his past, my fears, and now this strange connection that both comforted and unsettled me—refused to quiet.

I sighed, resigned to my wakefulness. Carefully, I disentangled myself from Ridge's embrace, his arm sliding away as I slipped out of bed. The cold hit me the moment my feet touched the floor, a sharp contrast to the warmth I'd just left. A shiver rippled through me as I padded softly across the room, heading for the bathroom.

In the faint light of the bathroom, I splashed water on my face, hoping to wash away the unease that clung to me like a second skin. My reflection stared back at me, eyes red-rimmed and haunted. A chill settled over me as I traced a hand through my damp hair, the strands clinging to my fingers. I breathed deeply, trying to steady myself, but the weight of the nightmare lingered, pressing into my chest.

I moved to the kitchen, taking a glass from the cupboard and filling it with tap water. The steady stream felt grounding, but as I lifted the glass to my lips, something caught my eye—a flicker of movement outside the small kitchen window. My pulse quickened, a strange sensation creeping up the back of my neck, sharp and insistent, as though my body had sensed danger before my mind could comprehend it.

I froze, squinting into the darkness. The flickering streetlamp cast eerie shadows across the pavement, distorting reality just enough to make me question what I was seeing. For a moment, I convinced myself it was nothing—just my imagination, my nerves playing tricks on me.

And then I saw him.

A figure, standing perfectly still beneath the light, his head tilted up toward the window. Watching me.

A cold wave of dread washed over me. My breath hitched as I stumbled back, a gasp escaping my lips. My hand shot out, catching the edge of the sink to steady myself. The sharp pain in my palm grounded me just enough to move, to think. My thoughts were a tangled mess of fear and disbelief, my heart hammering in my chest.

The figure didn't move. Just stood there, eerily motionless, his shadow stretched long and unnatural under the streetlamp. My breath came in shallow bursts, my mind racing with questions I couldn't answer. Why was he here? Was he real?

My body acted before my mind could catch up. I turned and rushed back to the bedroom, my toe catching painfully on the doorframe. The sting barely registered as I reached Ridge, shaking him awake with trembling hands.

"There's someone out on the street," I managed, my voice a breathless whisper. My heart pounded so loudly it drowned out my thoughts. Ridge blinked awake, his gaze sharpening as he registered the fear in my face.

"What?" he rasped, his voice still thick with sleep. But his body responded instantly, his muscles tensing as he sat up. His hands reached for me, steadying me by the shoulders as his eyes searched mine. "Sam, what's going on?"

I couldn't get the words out. My throat felt tight, my mind a jumbled mess. Instead, I grabbed his wrist, tugging him toward the kitchen. My fingers trembled against his skin, my pulse racing.

"Just come on," I whispered, barely able to get the words out.

The room felt colder as we reached the kitchen. Ridge followed my lead, his expression hardening as he stepped to the window beside me. Together, we peered through the glass, my breath fogging the pane as my eyes darted toward the street.

But the figure was gone.

The street, now empty, seemed somehow more menacing in its stillness. The flickering streetlamp illuminated nothing but the rain-slick pavement. My stomach twisted, the knot of unease tightening as I gripped the edge of the counter.

"He was there," I murmured, my voice barely audible. Ridge's jaw clenched beside me, his gaze scanning the street with quiet intensity.

"Do you think it was him?" Ridge asked, his voice low as he leaned closer to the window, trying to pierce the dimly lit street below.

My body tensed as I stared into the darkness, a heavy weight pressing against my chest. I couldn't describe it, but I knew it was him. Something deep down—a raw instinct—told me it was him.

My heart pounded as the realisation hit me. A chill spread through my body, tightening my chest. It was him. The man from my garden, the man who had chased us. And now, he had Amber. Fear twisted into something darker—rage. How could I have let this happen?

As night became morning, I felt jittery, wired. The shadows stretched long across the floor, and even though Ridge was there, sitting next to me, his hand gently stroking my hair, it wasn't enough to chase away the gnawing feeling deep inside me. I couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, even here, huddled on the bed with my knees pulled tight to my chest. The blinds were shut, but that didn't stop me from imagining him skulking around outside, trying to find a way in.

I could feel that my body needed sleep, but my mind wouldn't let it.

"It's got to be connected," I whispered into my mug of tea, more to myself than to Ridge.

"Pardon?" Ridge asked, sitting up straighter.

"At the party the night Brad went missing, there was a man in a Michael Myers mask who bumped into him. What if that was the same hooded man that's been following me around? What if it's all connected? What if this is all happening because of me?"

The words tumbled out, each one heavier than the last. I didn't know it for certain, but I felt it in my very being.

I stared into my tea, the steam curling up like some hazy reflection of my thoughts. I knew it sounded crazy, but everything in my gut told me it was connected—Brad's disappearance, Amber being taken, and the hooded figure watching me. It wasn't just some random nightmare I'd fallen into. I was at the centre of it.

Concern flickered across Ridge's face as he processed my words. "Think about it," I continued, the thought gaining momentum in my mind now.

I set my tea on the bedside table and turned so he could look at me properly. "Amber and I went to Gregg's Halloween party the same night Brad went missing, and then he's found dead... Then the hooded man is in my garden, breaks in, and if you hadn't scared him off... who knows?"

Ridge's hand hovered for a moment before he spoke. "You think this has been happening because of you?" He didn't sound dismissive, but cautious, like he was trying to tread carefully around my unraveling thoughts.

"I do." My voice was firmer than I expected. "I mean, who else could it be about? Brad, Amber... they're all connected to me. This man in the mask, the one in the hoodie—it's not a coincidence. He's been watching me."

Ridge's jaw clenched slightly. His silence felt heavier than any words he could have spoken.

"It's not a reach, I'll admit that... but who would do this?"

I hesitated, the answer clawing at the edge of my mind. The silence pressed in. Finally, I said it, the words brittle as they left my lips.

"The only person I can think of... is you." My eyes flicked to his, daring him to react. "But I know it's not."

The accusation, spoken aloud, hung between us for a moment that felt like an eternity. Ridge's expression didn't falter, though his fingers flexed slightly, the only sign of tension.

"Sam," he said quietly, his voice steady but edged with something I couldn't quite place. "I think you know me better than that by now."

I nodded, guilt twisting in my chest as I looked away. "I do," I murmured. "But that's what makes this worse. If it's not you, who else could it be?"

Ridge's question hung in the air, thick with tension. The room felt smaller, the shadows on the walls creeping closer. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were running out of time.

The truth was, I didn't know. My mind raced through the faces of everyone I had encountered over the last few weeks, desperately trying to piece them into the puzzle that was slowly forming.

"That's the thing—I have no idea," I admitted, my voice shaky. "They must want something, but what? I don't know." The weight of it all pressed down on me, suffocating.

Ridge was quiet for a moment, his fingers absentmindedly tapping against his leg, the rhythmic sound somehow grounding me in the chaos.

"I think you're what he wants, Sam."

I froze, staring at him. My mouth went dry, and my heart started to pound erratically, the sound deafening in my ears.

"What do you mean?" I whispered, though deep down, I already knew. I'd felt it for weeks—that tightening knot of fear, the sense that this wasn't just about Brad or even Amber. But hearing Ridge say it out loud made it real in a way I hadn't been prepared for.

Ridge's jaw tightened as he leaned forward, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine. "It's you, Sam. He's after you. Brad got too close to you. Amber..." He paused, his voice heavy. "Amber is a way to get to you."

I swallowed hard, my voice trembling as I tried to make sense of it. "But... why me? What have I done?"

Ridge shook his head slowly, his gaze unwavering. "Sometimes, it's not about what you've done. It could be about how someone sees you—the way they've built a story in their head, something far from reality. Obsession can twist things, make people think they're owed something, or that they're punishing you for a perceived wrong."

The word hit like a blow. Obsession. It echoed in the quiet room, reverberating through me. A sick knot tightened in my stomach, bile rising in my throat.

"We need to find Amber," I said, my voice cracking under the weight of the words. "I know Campbell said to leave it to her, but I can't. Amber needs me."

Ridge's eyes softened as he heard the desperation in my voice. His steady presence grounded me, even though everything inside me felt like it was spiralling out of control.

"I know," he said quietly, his voice measured and calm.

I could feel the pressure building inside me, the urgency clawing at my chest. Every second that passed felt like another moment Amber was in danger, another moment I wasn't there for her.

"I can't just sit here," I said, my voice trembling as I stood abruptly from the bed. "I need to do something. If it's about me, then I have to be the one to fix it."

Ridge moved quickly, stepping in front of me and gripping my shoulders firmly. His steady gaze locked onto mine. "I get it, Sam. You want to fix this. But rushing in could make things worse. You could end up walking straight into his trap."

I swallowed hard, my chest tight. I knew he was right. Charging in blindly wouldn't help Amber—it could put her in even more danger. But the thought of sitting here, doing nothing, while she was out there... it was unbearable.

"We'll find her," Ridge said, his voice resolute. "What about Gregg?"

"It's not going to be Gregg. He's shorter than me, and the guy in the hood, the guy in the mask from the party—they were at least six-two."

"No, I mean it was Gregg's party. He might know who the man in the mask was."

My fingers tightened around the edge of the bed as the reality hit me: we had a place to start. Gregg might know something about the masked man. I couldn't waste another second sitting here, helpless. The image of Amber, out there somewhere alone, gnawed at me like a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding.

I took a deep breath, the knot in my chest pulling tighter as Ridge's words echoed in my head. "It's not Gregg," I muttered, more to myself than to him. My thoughts spun—images of the man in the Michael Myers mask, the hooded figure who seemed to be everywhere, and Amber, missing, likely at the mercy of whoever was behind all of this.

Ridge stood silently for a moment, his expression shadowed by concern and thought. "We need to start somewhere. If Gregg knows who was at the party—"

I cut him off, my voice hardening. "Gregg won't have anything useful. He barely even remembers me when I see him, and Amber's been on and off with him. If he knows something, it's probably by accident."

Ridge's brow furrowed, but he nodded slowly. "You're right. But we can't afford to overlook anything. Even a small detail could help."

The weight of exhaustion dragged at me as I sank back down onto the bed. My body felt heavy, my mind spinning with fragments of questions and half-formed plans. Ridge didn't press me, his steady presence beside me both reassuring and frustrating. I hated feeling this powerless, but for now, all I could do was breathe and try to gather my strength for whatever was going to happen next.