The black feather lay on her table like a curse in ink. Maya couldn't tear her eyes from it. It felt too personal—too pointed. Someone knew. Not just about her past… but about who she was before the silence.
She turned the note over. Nothing.
But the handwriting—it was familiar.
Trembling, Maya lit a candle and watched the flame dance. It reminded her of her father. Of bonfire nights in the backyard before life went wrong.
She whispered into the smoke, "Why now?"
The candle flickered violently.
A shadow crossed her window.
Her heart stopped.
Before she could react, her phone buzzed. Unknown number.
Text message: Stop digging. Or we'll bury you like before.
The glass in the candle cracked.
Maya dropped her phone.
This wasn't paranoia anymore.
It was real.
Someone wanted her to remember something she had buried.
Someone… who hadn't forgotten.
Her door creaked open slightly. She hadn't locked it.
Maya reached into the drawer, pulled out the small silver blade hidden in a makeup case.
She wasn't a scared little girl anymore.
She moved silently, every breath calculated.
But there was no one inside.
Then she noticed…
The photo on her wall—one of her and Liam—was gone.
In its place was another note, scrawled in the same sharp script:
"You don't know him like I do."