The walls feel like they're pulsing, each breath I take bouncing off them and coming back to me, heavier. Tyler's voice from the voicemail is still ringing in my head—"I need you to find me." The words are a trap, pulling me deeper into something I don't understand. My body is shaky, weak, but my mind won't stop racing. Tyler. He's still here, asking me for something, reaching out.

Max is quiet now, curled up at my feet, his eyes still wide with fear. He's not barking anymore, just staring at the door as if waiting for something to come through. I can feel it too—the weight of the apartment pressing in, like the walls are holding something back. Or holding something in.

I need to get out. I need air, space, something to clear my head. But I can't bring myself to leave. I can't shake the feeling that if I leave this place, I'll lose Tyler all over again. He's here, somewhere, his voice, his presence woven into the very walls of this apartment. And if I leave, I'll lose him forever.

My phone buzzes again—another text from Chloe. I don't even look at it. I can't deal with her right now, or anyone. I'm too far gone. No one would understand what's happening to me. No one would believe me.

I stand up slowly, my legs shaky as I make my way back to the living room. The candles have burned low, the flames flickering in the dim light. Tyler's things are still scattered around, untouched since the last time he was here. His guitar, the watch, his favorite book sitting on the coffee table. It all feels so surreal, like time has frozen, and I'm trapped in this in-between world, caught between memories and reality.

I pick up his watch, turning it over in my hands. The metal is cold, heavy, but familiar. I close my eyes, pressing it to my chest, trying to feel him, trying to sense him. But the only thing I feel is emptiness.

"Tyler," I whisper, my voice trembling. "What do you want from me?"

The room stays silent, the shadows creeping closer, darker, more oppressive. The only sound is the faint ticking of the clock on the wall, marking the passage of time that feels meaningless now.

I sit down on the floor, pulling my knees to my chest, staring at the photo I found earlier. The one of Tyler in the park. The one dated yesterday. I keep thinking about that smile—his soft, distant smile, the one that always made me feel like everything was going to be okay. But now... it feels different. The date on the back of the photo feels like a warning, a reminder that time isn't what it seems anymore. Nothing is what it seems anymore.

The letter Tyler left behind is crumpled in my hands, the ink smeared where my fingers pressed too hard. Don't look for me, he'd written. But then why is he asking me to find him? Why is he calling out to me from the other side, leaving messages, sending whispers in the dark?

I try to piece it all together—the voicemail, the knocking, the strange reappearance of his things. But none of it fits. It's like I'm living in two realities at once—one where Tyler is gone, and one where he's still here, slipping through the cracks of this world into mine.

Max growls softly, his eyes darting to the corner of the room. My heart skips a beat. I follow his gaze, but there's nothing there. Just shadows, stretching long and dark across the floor. But the air feels different—thicker, colder, like something is about to happen.

I stand up, my pulse racing, and move toward the hallway. The letter is still clutched in my hand, the weight of it pulling me down, dragging me deeper into this nightmare. I don't know what I'm looking for, but I know I won't find peace until I understand what's happening here.

As I step into the hallway, I hear it again. A faint, muffled knock.

My heart leaps into my throat, my breath catching in my chest. The knock is soft, almost hesitant, but it's unmistakable. It's coming from the bedroom.

I move slowly, my footsteps barely making a sound as I approach the door. My hand trembles as I reach for the handle, my mind racing with possibilities. Is it Tyler? Is he trying to reach me? Or is it something else—something darker?

I push the door open, and the cold hits me immediately. The room is freezing, the air so still it feels like I'm walking into a vacuum. My eyes scan the room, searching for something, anything that might explain what's happening. But everything looks the same. The bed is still unmade, the closet door is still slightly ajar, and the mirror on the wall reflects only my pale, trembling reflection.

And then I see it. On the bed, neatly placed on top of the tangled sheets, is another letter.

My blood turns to ice. My legs feel weak, and for a moment, I think I might collapse. But I force myself forward, my hands shaking as I reach for the letter. The envelope is the same—worn, creased, Tyler's handwriting scrawled across the front in the same familiar way.

I tear it open, my fingers fumbling with the paper, my heart pounding in my ears. The letter is shorter this time, but the words hit me like a punch to the gut.

It's not safe, Ettie. Please! Don't trust it. Don't trust me.

I drop the letter, stumbling back, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Don't trust me? What does that even mean? Is Tyler trying to warn me? Or is something else using his voice, his presence, to pull me deeper into this nightmare?

I don't know what to believe anymore. Everything feels twisted, warped, like the world around me is unraveling piece by piece. My mind is a tangled mess of fear and confusion, and I feel like I'm teetering on the edge of something dark and dangerous.

Max is barking again, louder this time, his growls echoing through the apartment. I rush back into the living room, my heart racing, my hands shaking. He's standing by the front door now, his body tense, his tail low. His barks are frantic, desperate, like he's trying to warn me of something I can't see.

I grab his collar, pulling him back, my own pulse racing in time with his. The apartment feels smaller, the walls pressing in tighter. My breathing is shallow, rapid, as if I'm gasping for air in a space that's rapidly closing around me.

And then, the lights flicker.

Once. Twice.

And they go out.

I'm plunged into darkness, the shadows swallowing me whole. Max whimpers, his body trembling beside me, and I pull him closer, my own heart hammering in my chest.

The apartment is silent now. So silent it feels like the world outside has disappeared completely, leaving me trapped in this dark, suffocating space.

And then, I hear it.

A voice. Whispering. Soft and low, but unmistakable.

"Ettie..."

It's Tyler. But it's not coming from the phone this time. It's coming from the room.

I freeze, my blood turning to ice. The voice is so close now, so clear, like he's standing right beside me. But when I turn, there's nothing. Just the darkness, thick and impenetrable, wrapping itself around me like a shroud.

I don't know what to do. I don't know where to go. My mind is spinning, my pulse racing, and I feel like I'm about to break apart.

And then, in the darkness, I see it.

A figure. Standing in the hallway. Watching me.

Tyler.

I blink, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath catching in my throat. But when I open my eyes again, he's gone. The hallway is empty, silent, the shadows stretching long and dark across the floor.

I can't take it anymore. I can't stay here. I need to leave. Now.

I grab my keys from the counter, pulling on my coat with shaking hands. Max is still growling, his eyes fixed on the hallway, but I don't have time to calm him. I yank open the door, stepping into the cold night air, the weight of the apartment lifting off me as soon as I'm outside.

But even as I step into the cool darkness of the street, the sense of being watched doesn't fade. I feel Tyler's presence lingering, his voice echoing in my mind, his letters burning a hole in my pocket.

It's not safe, Ettie. Don't trust it. Don't trust me.