Jane POV
I woke to the smell of my own fear and the feeling of damp hair clinging to my neck. My heart was a chaotic mess, drumming a frantic rhythm against my ribs that made my whole chest ache.
I sat up, clutching the duvet until my knuckles ached, trying to convince my lungs that the air was safe to breathe.
It was a lie.
Last night’s confrontation had left me stripped bare. I could still feel the phantom pressure of the man’s grip—the way he looked at me not as a person, but as a prize. My skin felt too tight, my pulse singing with a frantic, metallic hum that told me the nightmare hadn't stayed behind in the sleep-world.
I swung my legs over the bed, my feet hitting the cold wood. Every sound was a jump-scare: the settling of the house, the wind rattling the loose pane, the dist
