Sleep had become impossible.
No matter how many times Nora turned off her phone, buried it beneath pillows, or drowned herself in Netflix reruns, she couldn’t escape the pounding thought circling her head: Adam wasn’t bluffing this time. He was moving. Hunting.
And she could feel it.
The apartment was too quiet. Every creak of the pipes, every gust against the windowpane made her flinch. Even the hum of the fridge seemed louder tonight, mocking her attempts at calm. She pulled her blanket tighter, staring at the ceiling fan spinning shadows across the walls.
Adam’s words replayed like a broken record:
“You don’t even know who he really is.”
What did he mean? Who was Jason, really?
A hundred questions drilled into her, one after the other, relentless:
What if Adam found something?
