I followed him closely, slipping through the crowd. His hand gripped my arm tightly, almost possessively, guiding me with a rhythm that mirrored my own reluctant steps. We walked in sync, but I couldn’t escape the sense of danger that loomed over me.
“If you run, I shoot. If you shout for help, I shoot. If you try to act smart, I shoot,” his voice was low, cold, and deliberate. His rules were simple, and fear tightened my chest. I nodded, a small, terrified gesture—like a child too afraid to speak or fight back.
“Smile,” he demanded sharply, his voice carrying an unsettling edge. “Smile. Just like me. See?”
He flashed a smile, but it wasn’t a friendly one. It was forced, stretched, almost like a mask to hide something darker beneath. It transformed his face—turning him from a devilis
