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I’m as obsessed with him as he is with me.

I run as far away as I can, praying that he didn’t recognize me. He didn’t seem to. Then again, I don’t understand how Frank is here given the state I remember him in.

How did he get here? Did he drive that blue truck?

The wind picks up, blowing snow into my face as I make my way back up toward the hill to my house. The temperature quickly drops by a few degrees, and my breath circles in the air. My bones are frozen by the time I rush inside, using the key passcode to get into the garage. The same passcode as before I was abducted. I really need to talk to my mom about better security. Their car is missing, and I’m met by an icy silence.

“Mom,” I call out. “Dad…are you here?”

No answer.

I head into the kitchen and check my phone, seeing I missed a text…

Mom: There was an emergency at the mill. Don’t leave the house. Dinner is in the fridge if you get hungry.

Weird.

It must have been something bad for them to leave me alone like this, especially during an early season storm when the snow can bury the roads leading into the mill. Almost as if someone wanted them out of the house and knew the mill is the one thing that would keep them away.

Wind echoes throughout the house, causing a whistling sound that makes me jittery. I’m safest here than anywhere else.

I’m still shivering, so I put the kettle on to boil some water for tea. The kettle hisses, and I lean back against the island, staring out at the lake. My gaze snags on something resting in the fresh snow. As I step closer to get a better look, my stomach lurches when I spot footprints nearby. They trail down a small path toward the lake shore, a path that connects all the neighbors. My neighbors rarely walk on our property like this, and these footprints are fresh—only minutes old—and the falling snow is already covering them. Once again, I’m left questioning if they are really there.

I walk to the back door and open it. The ribbon sits on top of the snow like a gift sent from the devil himself.

Stepping into the cold, I crank my head to check the security camera above me. The red light is on. I grab the ribbon, then slam the door shut, catching my breath. “Caught you, asshole.”

The oxygen sucks out of my lungs…

Drip. Drip. Drip. Drip.

I shoot my head up. My eyes scan the house, then I lunge toward the butcher block, grabbing the biggest knife we have. I pace the kitchen, clutching the knife, and check every room on the main floor, stopping a few feet away from the dripping faucet.

Sweat builds up on my brow. “Nick, stop it. Stop punishing me.”

My phone buzzes, making me almost drop the knife. I scramble for it in my purse I left in the kitchen, and with a shaking hand, I read it.

Unknown Number: But it’s so fun, baby.

“Show yourself, you fucking coward!” I scream.

And he does…he walks out of the woods and onto our yard in full view. A dark hood covering his face. He waves at me, and my body turns into an inferno. He’s everything I remember him being. Built for death, his face covered with that black bandana, dark pants tucked into black boots. And deadly—he’s aiming a gun at me. I dip my head following its trajectory. The red dot lands squarely on my heart.

We hold each other’s gaze for a long moment, and I blink a few times, just to be sure he’s real. I move my hand to my beating heart, cherishing this moment where clarity claws at my sanity. My vision is clear, and the pain in my heart is real.

I’ve had my moment of redemption. He made sure of that in the shed, so why is he so mad at me?

The phone rings, and I answer it, lifting the phone to my ear. The wind bangs against the house, and it flows through to my ears.

“Hi, wildling.” My eyelids fall shut. His voice is dark, smooth, and chills my soul. He is my enemy—he fucking destroyed me in that dark shed.

“Nick,” I say, opening my eyes. “Let this go. Let me go.”

He relaxes his posture, and he breathes heavily in my ear. “Nick’s not here anymore, Layla. Don’t you remember? Nick is dead.”

I let out a shuddering breath. The Archer. He’s showing himself to me for a reason. He could easily stay hidden and still point that gun at me, but he wants my undivided attention.

We watch each other, with me framed in the window, and his silhouette in the fading light as snow falls around him. One shot…one slip of his finger and I’m dead. I hope Nick’s still in there somewhere.