"I had that dream again," I said quietly, wrapping the fur coat tighter around my shoulders. "The one where I'm running, but the road keeps stretching further. Every time I think I'm safe, I hear footsteps behind me."
No one spoke for a moment. The silence settled thick around us. Then Markus pushed away from the wall and came closer.
"Listen," he said, voice low, roughened by smoke and truth. "If they ever come near you again, if you even think you're being watched — you call. Don't wait, don't question it. You call."
His words hit something deep in me. For so long I had been the one who had to survive alone, to fight without anyone behind me. Hearing him say it — like a command, not a favor — made my throat tighten.
Liana looked up from the steps. "You don't have to be afraid of them anymore," she said. "Fear is what they fed on. But that ends here. If anyone tries to touch what's yours, they'll face us first."
Her tone was calm, but her eyes flashed like steel in the firelight.
Andre exhaled smoke into the night air and muttered, "No one hunts you now. They try, they disappear. Simple as that."
I blinked at him, trying to tell if he was serious. He was. Completely.
The others nodded, one by one, as if sealing an unspoken oath. I didn't know what to say. The cold wind brushed against my cheek, but my body was burning from the inside.
"You don't understand," I whispered. "They ruined so much. Every time I think of them, I feel small again. Like I'll never be free."
Markus stepped closer, until his shadow covered mine. "Then we'll remind you," he said. "Every single time that fear comes back, we'll stand right here. You'll look at us, and you'll remember — they can't reach you anymore."
Something in my chest cracked then. Not from pain, but from release. The kind of release that comes when someone else carries the weight, even for a moment.
Liana smiled faintly. "You built a new life, piece by piece," she said. "Now let us guard it while you breathe again."
For the first time in years, I allowed myself to breathe fully.
I looked at them — Markus with his unshakable calm, Liana with her quiet fire, Andre with that dark promise in his eyes — and I realized I wasn't alone. Not anymore.
The night stretched above us, wide and silent, but I no longer felt hunted. I felt watched over.
"I'll call," I said softly. "If I'm afraid… I'll call."
Markus nodded once. "Good. Because we'll come."
And in that moment, I believed him. Every word.
The promise they made that night stayed with me like a heartbeat beneath my skin. For days, I felt lighter. I could walk through the rooms of the new house without flinching at every sound, without expecting the past to step out from behind the door.
But peace — it never lasted long for me. It was always borrowed time.
It started small. A message request.
Unknown number. No name. Just:
> You think you're safe?
At first, I stared at it for a long while, the letters blurring. My fingers trembled above the screen. A chill ran through me, not just fear, but recognition — the same phrasing, the same tone he once used when he wanted me to know he was watching.
I deleted it. Told myself it was spam. But my heart didn't believe me.
The next morning, I found muddy footprints by the side gate. The soil was still soft from rain, and the prints led nowhere — just stopped halfway across the yard, as if whoever made them wanted to leave a message: I was here.
That night, I couldn't sleep. Every creak of the wooden ceiling felt louder. I stared at the ceiling for hours, holding the blanket tight around me.
When morning came, I went to Sebastian and told him, my voice shaking. He listened without interrupting, then called Markus.
By noon, they were all there — Markus, Liana, Andre — and two others I hadn't met yet. Big men with quiet eyes, tattoos half-hidden beneath their sleeves. I knew at once: these weren't just friends. These were the kind of people who could make others disappear if they wanted to.
Markus walked around the property with slow, deliberate steps, checking the gate, the path, the road. Andre crouched near the footprints, tracing them with a gloved hand.
"Too big to be kids," he muttered. "Someone wanted to be seen."
Liana came beside me, placed a hand on my shoulder. "You did the right thing, calling us."
I nodded, though shame still burned somewhere deep inside. "I thought maybe I was overreacting. That it was just my mind."
She shook her head. "Your mind kept you alive this long. Don't doubt it now."
Markus came back toward me. "We'll install cameras," he said. "Motion sensors, too. But more than that — we'll take turns watching the place for a while. You won't be alone here."
Something inside me broke at those words — not in pain, but in disbelief that someone would take my fear seriously. No one ever had before.
That evening, when the lights dimmed and the air grew cold again, Andre stayed outside on the porch, his silhouette visible through the window. I sat inside, tea in my hands, watching him. The thought crossed my mind: If they come again, they won't find the same woman they hurt before.
They'll find her surrounded by people who won't let her fall again.
As I turned off the light and went to bed, I whispered to myself, "You're safe. You're not alone."
But somewhere deep in the woods beyond the fence, I thought I heard something move — a branch snapping, a shadow shifting.
I closed my eyes, willing the fear away.
This time, I wasn't going to run.
After Markus and the others set everything up, the house looked different.
Small motion lights now circled the yard, glowing pale blue against the stone walls. Every few meters, another sensor waited quietly, ready to burst into light if something moved.
When darkness fell that first night, I stood at the window, watching. The silence outside was heavy, the kind that pressed into your skin. Then — click — one light near the gate blinked on. My breath caught.
But it was only Markus, testing. He waved at me, a faint grin on his face, before walking back toward his car.
When he left, I sat by the window for a long time. I half‑expected to see something — footprints again, or the shape of a man waiting in the trees.
Nothing.
The next morning, I went outside early. The yard was clean. No new prints in the mud, no cigarette butts by the fence, no strange marks on the walls. Just dew on the grass and the sound of birds.
The second night passed the same.
And the third.
It was as if the lights themselves had chased the shadows away.
Andre said once that people like him — the ones who hide in the dark — hate being seen.
Maybe he was right. Maybe whoever tried to scare me saw the new lights, saw the cameras, saw the people coming and going — and decided I wasn't worth the trouble anymore.
Or maybe something deeper happened.
Maybe the moment I stopped being afraid, the darkness lost its power.
That night, when Sebastian came to bed, I rested my head against his shoulder and whispered, "It's quiet now."
He brushed his hand through my hair. "Then sleep, love. You deserve quiet."
For the first time in a long while, I did.
It was past midnight when my phone buzzed.
I reached for it, eyes still half‑closed.
Sebastian: Are you alright?
Sebastian: Markus sent me a message — the sensors picked movement near the back fence.
My breath stopped for a second.
I looked toward the window, where the garden lay in silver moonlight. Nothing seemed to move. The lights outside glowed steady.
My fingers trembled as I typed back.
Me: I'm okay. I heard nothing.
A moment later his reply came.
Sebastian: Don't go outside. Stay where you are. Markus and Andre are on their way.
I sat up, pulling the blanket tighter. The silence of the house suddenly felt too loud, every creak like a whisper.
Minutes passed slowly, heavy as stone.
Then headlights flashed across the yard. The sound of boots on gravel.
I peeked through the curtain — Markus' large frame moved quickly toward the back, Andre behind him, both carrying flashlights. They checked the fence, the gate, the corners of the house.
After a while Markus looked up to my window and raised his hand. All clear.
My phone buzzed again.
Sebastian: They found nothing. Maybe a stray animal. But we'll keep watch tonight. Sleep, if you can.
I put the phone down on the nightstand and whispered to myself, "Maybe it was the wind… maybe."
Still, I couldn't sleep right away. I watched the lights outside blink faintly with each movement of the trees, and felt a strange mix of fear and gratitude.
He was far away, but somehow still guarding me.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't alone in the dark.