POV: Leo Maddox
The door to Ezra's room groaned open on reluctant hinges. The air inside was a chemical cocktail paint thinner, sour candy, and beneath it, the coppery tang of something Leo didn't want to identify. A hunting knife, clean but menacing, lay on the desk beside a ripped bag of gummy worms.
Leo didn't bother with greetings. "You've been following him."
Ezra didn't turn from where he was slouched on his bed, scrolling on his phone. A low chuckle escaped him. "That's rich. You've had a lens focused on that boy since his voice cracked. And suddenly I'm the problem?"
"Harper," Leo bit out, the name a curse. "The one who asked Avery to prom. You killed him."
"Technically," Ezra drawled, finally looking up with a grin that didn't touch his dead eyes, "the car crash killed him. I just helped his brakes… fail. But the cleanup?" He whistled. "That was the real art."
Leo moved in a flash, grabbing his brother by the collar and slamming him against the wall. The framed poster of a splattered rock band rattled. "You do not touch him. You do not touch anyone near him. I never wanted this."
"Oh, but you never stopped it, either, did you?" Ezra taunted, his smirk unwavering even with Leo's fist pressed against his windpipe. "'Loving someone isn't a crime.' Weren't those your exact words, big brother?"
Leo's hand trembled with the urge to squeeze. To silence him forever. But Ezra was right. He was complicit. He had looked away from the blood because it kept the path to Avery clear.
He released his grip, and Ezra dropped to the floor, laughing a raw, grating sound.
"You're pathetic, Leo. You watch him like a saint at an altar, too scared to touch the relic. Me?" He wiped his mouth. "I burn down the whole church to keep the pilgrims away."
Before Leo could retort, his phone buzzed. An unknown number.
you're not the only one watching, leo
check your back porch. we've already met.
His blood turned to ice.
He fled the room, Ezra's manic laughter chasing him down the hall. He burst onto the back porch, the cold night air hitting him like a slap.
There, taped to the glass door from the inside, was a photograph.
Avery. At the 24-hour convenience store last night, buying a soda. He was looking up, directly into the lens, a faint, polite smile on his face for the person he thought was taking a picture.
Scrawled across his chest in smeared, waxy red lipstick, Leo realized with a jolt were the words:
He smiled at me first.
Leo's fingers shook as he peeled the photo away. The ink was still slightly tacky, staining his thumb. He scanned the tree line, the shadows between the pines. Nothing. No sound but the wind.
They had been inside his perimeter. They had been in his house.
He crumpled the photo in his fist, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. This wasn't Ezra. Ezra was a blunt instrument; this was a scalpel. This was someone who didn't just want to possess Avery they wanted to play. And they had just made their opening move against Leo himself.
Locking the door, he pulled out his burner phone, the one that held the sacred texts of his obsession. He opened the most recent file: a video of Avery this morning, head thrown back in a laugh at something Mila said.
The familiar warmth of possession was now laced with a cold, sharp fear.
He wasn't the only hunter in the woods.
And this new one had just proven they could get closer to the prey than he ever had.
POV: Unknown
The room was a cathedral of silence, lit only by the phosphorescent glow of a dozen monitors. The Stranger sat cross-legged in the center, a conductor before a digital orchestra.
Screen One: A live feed of Avery in Calculus, chewing on the end of his pencil.
Screen Two:Ezra, exiting the music wing, sucking on a blood-red lollipop.
Screen Three:Leo, pacing the length of his bedroom like a caged tiger, the crumpled photo in his hand.
A slow, serene smile spread across The Stranger's face.
"Jealous little dogs, fighting over a bone," they whispered, their voice a soft hum in the stillness.
They leaned forward, fingers dancing across a keyboard in the dark.
TO: [REDACTED]
SUBJECT: (Blank)
You weren't fast enough, Leo. But it's okay. We can share. For now.
Their gaze drifted to a fourth screen, the most prized of the collection. A feed from a camera hidden in Avery's bedroom vent. He was there, pulling a clean t-shirt over his head, his back pale and vulnerable in the afternoon light. Oblivious.
The Stranger's tongue darted out, wetting their lips.
"Mine."
POV: Ezra Maddox (Three Hours Ago)
Mila had screamed herself hoarse. The sound was muffled by the soundproofed walls of the garden shed, now just a ragged, rhythmic gasp. Ezra spun the butterfly knife in his hand, a silver blur in the dim light, as he watched her from his perch on a rusting tool chest.
"You're lucky, you know," he mused, not looking at her. "Most people don't get a chance to beg. They just… end."
Mila, tied to a chair, lifted her head. A thin line of blood trailed from her split lip. She spat in his direction, the gesture weak but defiant.
He sighed, a theatrical sound of disappointment. "Still got some fight. Good. That's probably why he likes you."
She flinched at the pronoun. He.
Ezra leaned in slowly, the spinning knife ceasing as he pressed the cold, flat of the blade beneath her chin, tilting her head up. "My brother," he whispered, his breath ghosting across her face, "has a type. Sweet. Protective. A loyal little guard dog. You? You're standing between him and his favorite toy. I was going to cut your throat just for breathing the same air as Avery."
"Then why haven't you?" she croaked, her voice shredded.
The smile Ezra gave her then wasn't the wide, manic one she'd seen before. It was smaller. Sadder. Infinitely more terrifying.
"Because Leo begged me not to."
He stood up and, with a quick, practiced motion, unlocked the cuffs around her wrists. Her body slumped forward, collapsing onto the dusty concrete floor in a heap.
"I don't like you, Mila," he said, wiping his blade clean on his jeans. "But I love my brother. And he, in his pathetic, fragile way, loves Avery. And Avery would be… sad… if you disappeared." He crouched beside her, his voice light, conversational. "So, you live. Because sadness makes Leo stupid, and I need him sharp for what's coming."
He reached out and tilted her chin up with the tip of the knife, inspecting the bruise blooming on her cheekbone.
"But if you ever, ever betray him…" he tapped the flat of the blade gently against her skin, a lover's caress, "...I'll carve that loyalty out of your flesh and feed it to you."
POV: Avery Knox
The moment Mila slipped into his room, Avery's world, which had been tilting off its axis, slammed back into a fragile, temporary balance. He dropped his phone and sketchbook, crossing the room in two strides and pulling her into a crushing embrace.
"Mila! God, where have you been?" he breathed into her hair, his voice cracking. "I was losing my mind."
Her arms came around him, but the hug was stiff, hesitant. Her face was buried in his shoulder, and for a single, horrifying second, he felt a full-body shudder wrack her frame. It wasn't the shudder of relief. It was the tremor of a deep, unspoken guilt.
When she pulled back, her smile was a fragile, painted-on thing. "I'm okay," she said, her voice too soft. "I am now."
"Okay? You're not okay!" His hands came up, gently framing her face, his thumb brushing the faint, yellowing edge of a bruise she hadn't bothered to conceal. "Look at you. Your wrist… your face… What happened to you?"
Mila let herself be led to his bed, sinking down as if her legs could no longer hold her. She stared at a fixed point on his rug.
"Some… guys. After the party. I went out for snacks and… they came out of nowhere." She swallowed hard. "I woke up in the hospital."
Avery's brow furrowed, a cold knot tightening in his stomach. "What hospital? Why didn't you call me? Or your mom? Or-"
"I didn't want to worry you." The lie was delivered too quickly, too smoothly. A rehearsed line.
Her voice broke on the last word. Just a tiny fracture, but he heard it.
"Mila…" He knelt in front of her, forcing her to look at him. His voice dropped to a whisper. "Please. Tell me the truth."
Her eyes, wide and swimming with unshed tears, met his. For one heartbeat, he saw the raw, unvarnished terror in them.
Then, she smiled again. That soft, sad, lying smile.
"I am telling you the truth."
Avery wanted to believe her. He ached to. It was the simpler, safer reality.
But the air between them was thick with the words she wasn't saying. She wasn't scared of the memory. She was scared of him asking about it.
So he didn't push. He just took her cold hand in both of his and whispered, "I'm just glad you're here."
And Mila? She finally let a single tear escape, tracing a clean path through the dust on her cheek.
Not because she was safe.
But because she had just lied to the one person who trusted her, to protect him from a truth so monstrous it would have shattered him.