I didn’t fall back asleep.
Instead, I sat in bed, knees tucked to my chest, and stared at the c***k between my curtains.
A sliver of moonlight cut across the floor, white and cold and silent.
But inside me, nothing was still.
It wasn’t just the heat in my veins anymore.
It was pressure—like something coiled beneath my skin, waiting to stretch.
To move.
I pressed a hand to my chest.
My heartbeat was steady.
Too steady.
Like it didn’t belong to me.
Like it belonged to something watching through my eyes.
What are you?
I wanted to ask it.
The thing inside me.
The echo.
The shadow.
The presence that kept pressing against the inside of my ribs like it was trying to speak without words.
But all it gave me was that same silence—not empty, but listening.
—
The next day,
