Elara
I used to believe danger announced itself loudly — slammed doors, shattered glass, raised voices that split the air. I used to think I would always see it coming. Now I know better. Sometimes it hums beneath the surface, quiet and patient, waiting for the ground beneath your feet to crack.
The first sign was my email.
An address I didn’t recognize. No subject line. No body text. Just an attachment.
My pulse didn’t spike at first. It went cold. Slow. Controlled. I stared at the screen in the dim light of my apartment, rain tapping softly against the windows, and I felt that old, familiar dread begin to unfurl in my chest.
I didn’t open it.
I didn’t have to.
A minute later, my phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
I stared at it until it stopped. Ten seconds later, it buzzed again.
I
