I can't move. The letter lies on the floor, staring up at me like an accusation. Tyler's words blur in my vision, the ink swirling, smudging, making no sense.

Don't look for me. Something's wrong. Don't look for me.

But how could I not look for him? How could I let go of someone I loved so much; someone I've been hearing and feeling and seeing in this apartment? The air around me thickens, pressing in on me from all sides. My mind races in circles, desperate for logic, but none of this makes sense.

Max is barking now, sharp and frantic. His barks reverberate through the apartment, but he doesn't come closer. He stays rooted at the doorway, staring into the darkness of the closet where I found the letter. His hackles are raised, his body tense and low. He senses something. And I sense it too.

There's something here.

I step back from the closet, my legs shaky, the cold creeping into my bones. The letter—it feels like a warning, but also a plea. A piece of a puzzle I can't begin to understand. I clutch at the fabric of Tyler's old shirt draped across my shoulders, my breath quickening. Everything feels disjointed, like I'm falling through the cracks of reality, slipping further and further away from the world I once knew.

I try to focus, to ground myself, but it's impossible. The apartment feels like a stranger now, every corner hiding something unseen, every shadow stretching into something darker, something threatening. The walls are closing in, suffocating me, pressing tighter and tighter.

"Tyler..." I whisper, though I don't know if I'm asking for him, pleading for him to explain, or begging him to stop whatever this is.

But there's no answer. Only silence.

I move to the couch, collapsing onto it, the letter clutched in my hand. I'm shaking, my mind spinning with thoughts I don't want to have. The watch sits on the coffee table, its metal gleaming in the flickering candlelight, a haunting reminder of the things that keep reappearing—Tyler's things, somehow returning to me, pulling me deeper into a past I can't escape.

I stare at the letter, reading it over and over, trying to understand. The words "something's wrong" repeat in my head, echoing louder with every passing second. Something was watching him. Following him. What did Tyler know that I didn't? What was he afraid of?

Max whines, his pacing becoming more frantic, his tail tucked between his legs. I stand up, my legs unsteady beneath me and move toward him. My heart pounds in my chest, the cold dread in my stomach growing stronger.

As I reach Max, something catches my eye.

The photo.

It's sitting on the side table, right next to the framed picture of me and Tyler from our trip to the coast last year. But this one is different. I don't remember putting it there.

I move toward it slowly, my heart racing. It's a small, unframed photo of Tyler, but it's not one I recognize. He's standing in the park near our old apartment, his hands stuffed in his pockets, his smile soft and distant. The sky behind him is gray, the trees bare and lifeless. It's a candid shot, but it's not one I ever took.

And on the back, in small, neat handwriting, is a date.

October 14, 2024.

My blood runs cold. That was yesterday. Tyler's been dead for over a week, and yet here he is, smiling up at me from a photo dated after his death.

I stagger back, dropping the picture onto the floor, my breath coming in shallow gasps. This isn't real. It can't be real. The edges of the room seem to blur, twisting and warping around me, and I press my hands to my face, trying to breathe, trying to calm the rising panic inside me.

But nothing makes sense. None of this makes sense.

Max is growling now, deep and low, his eyes fixed on something behind me. I spin around, my heart hammering in my chest, but there's nothing there. Just the empty living room, the flickering candles, the eerie silence.

I'm losing it. I have to be. Grief does that. It tears your mind apart, piece by piece, until you can't tell what's real and what's not. But this—this feels different. This feels like something else.

I stumble toward the bedroom, my legs weak and trembling. I need to get out of here. I need air. I need to breathe. But as I reach the doorway, the walls seem to close in around me, the shadows stretching and shifting like they're alive, like they're watching me.

I can't stay here. I can't stay in this apartment. It's too much. Too much silence. Too much emptiness. Too many memories.

I find myself standing in the bedroom, staring at the bed. The sheets are still tangled, the faint scent of Tyler's cologne lingering in the air. It's like a graveyard of our last moments together—silent, still, and suffocating.

I drop onto the edge of the bed, burying my face in my hands. The tears come fast and hard, my chest heaving with sobs I can't control. I'm drowning in this grief, drowning in the weight of everything I've lost. And now, with everything happening—the knocking, the whispers, the photos—I feel like I'm losing more than just Tyler. I'm losing myself.

I don't know how long I sit there, crying, shaking, spiraling deeper into the darkness that's wrapping itself around me. But eventually, I feel something shift. The air grows colder, the room darker, and the silence becomes heavier.

And then, I hear it.

A soft, barely-there creak, like someone shifting their weight. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and I feel the familiar cold wave of dread wash over me.

I'm not alone.

Slowly, I lift my head, my eyes scanning the room. The shadows are thick and heavy, pressing in on all sides, but there—at the edge of the mirror, just out of the corner of my eye—I see it.

A figure. A shape.

Tyler.

I whip my head around, my heart pounding in my chest. But when I look directly at the mirror, there's nothing there. Just my own reflection, pale and trembling, my hazel eyes wide with fear.

I back away from the mirror, my pulse racing. I know what I saw. I know it was him. But I don't understand how. How is this happening? What is going on?

The air feels thicker now, charged with something I can't explain. The room seems to pulse with a life of its own, the walls breathing, the floor shifting beneath my feet. I can feel the weight of something pressing down on me, something heavy and dark.

Max is barking again, his growls low and desperate. I run to him, kneeling beside him, holding onto him like he's the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. His body is tense, his eyes wide and fearful.

I'm scared too. Terrified, actually. I don't know what's happening, and I don't know how to stop it.

Except deep down, I know one thing for sure. I can't stay here.

I'm not thinking straight. I can feel my thoughts slipping, spiraling, getting lost in the overwhelming weight of everything. I haven't slept properly in days, and every breath feels harder than the last. The world outside the apartment doesn't exist anymore. It's just me, Max, and the memories of Tyler.

I grab my phone off the bed, scrolling through my contacts, my fingers trembling as I find Chloe's name. I need to call her. I need to hear her voice, to hear something normal for once. But just as I'm about to press the call button, my phone buzzes.

A new voicemail. From an unknown number.

My heart skips, my pulse quickening. I hesitate for a moment, my thumb hovering over the play button. Every instinct is screaming at me to stop, to put the phone down, to ignore whatever this is.

Just I can't. I go on and press play.

There's a moment of static, the same crackling, distorted noise I've come to expect. And then, through the static, I hear his voice again.

"Ettie..."

It's Tyler. Clearer this time. Closer.

"I need you to find me..."

The message cuts off abruptly, the silence deafening in its wake.

I drop the phone, my hands shaking, my breath coming in short, panicked bursts. Find him? What does that even mean? Tyler is gone. I buried him. I said goodbye.

But his voice... it sounded so real. So close. Like he was right here, in the room with me.

I look around the apartment, my heart pounding in my chest. The walls feel like they're closing in again, the shadows pressing down on me, suffocating me. I can't breathe. I can't think.

Tyler is trying to reach me. I know that now. But the question is: what does he want?