Aisha sat curled on her bed, knees pulled tightly to her chest, her injured arm pressed against her side.
The faint sting of the claw marks pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, each throb a reminder that she wasn’t imagining things—something had truly happened while she slept.
Her apartment was silent, too silent, as if holding its breath with her.
She tried to convince herself to stand.
To wash her face.
To pretend she wasn’t shaking.
But she couldn’t.
Every sound made her flinch.
Every shadow in the room looked alive.
She finally forced herself to whisper, “It was just a dream… just a dream…”
But the marks burning on her arm disagreed.
Minutes dragged by in cold, fragile silence.
Then—
A firm knock sounded at her door.
Aisha gasped and froze, her heart thundering so loudly
