The living room smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and old dust, the two scents at war in the air. Evelyn had tried to scrub every surface that morning, as if the smell of polish could somehow erase what she'd seen outside the university gates—the sight of Edgar's face, his eyes fixed on her like a hunter who'd chosen his prey.
But no matter how hard she cleaned, the unease clung to her like a second skin.
Now she sat curled up on the couch, knees hugged to her chest, while Silas and Amara stood on opposite sides of the room. It felt like two magnets with the same charge pressed too close—repelling, pushing away, but never breaking apart.
Silas leaned against the window, one hand stuffed into his jacket pocket, his hazel eyes sharp as ever. He looked like he was carved out of tension itself, every muscle wired, ready for danger.
Amara sat cross-legged on the rug, posture loose but gaze fierce. She had tied her dark hair back, her eyes catching the lamp light in glints that made them hard to read. She radiated confidence, like she had already decided she would be the shield in this situation, and nothing—not even Silas—could tell her otherwise.
Evelyn tugged her blanket higher over her shoulders, breaking the silence with a whisper. "We can't… keep going like this. Pretending it's nothing. I saw him. He was there. At my uni. He's not going to stop."
Her voice cracked, betraying the tremor inside her chest.
Silas's jaw clenched. He spoke low, measured. "You're right. We need a plan."
Amara's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Finally. I was waiting for someone to say it out loud."
Silas shot her a glance, but didn't rise to the bait. Evelyn noticed, though. She always noticed the way they orbited each other—tense, sharp, as if they were playing a game she didn't know the rules to.
"What do we even do?" Evelyn asked. Her voice sounded smaller than she intended, but it was the truth. She was exhausted—of fear, of running, of the knives in her mind that never gave her rest. "We can't go to the police. They'd laugh in our faces if we started talking about voices in our heads."
"Then we don't go to the police," Amara said firmly, leaning forward. "We protect you ourselves."
Something about the way she said we made Evelyn glance at her, then at Silas.
Silas finally pushed away from the window. He walked closer, his steps slow, deliberate. His voice stayed calm, but his eyes stayed on Amara. "Protecting her means thinking smart. Edgar's not some random stranger. He's been doing this for decades—long enough to erase an entire village. If we underestimate him, Evelyn pays the price."
At the sound of her name in his mouth, Evelyn's stomach tightened.
Amara, though, tilted her head. "And what's your plan, then? Hide? Wait for him to come knocking? That's not protecting her. That's letting her live in fear until he finally gets to her."
The air thickened between them, sharp as glass.
Evelyn tightened her arms around her knees. "Please. Don't fight. Not about me."
That silenced them both—for a heartbeat.
Silas looked away first, dragging a hand through his hair, exhaling like he was forcing the tension out of his lungs. "Fine. But we start with information. We need to know more about him—about what he's capable of."
Amara leaned back, arms crossed. "You think a man like that leaves trails?"
"He already has," Silas said. "The house. The voices. You don't erase that kind of history without a mark." His eyes flicked to Evelyn, softening slightly. "We start with the basement. Whatever he left behind—maybe it explains why we hear what we hear."
Evelyn's blood ran cold. The memory of the chopping noises, the breath on the other side of that door, came rushing back like a flood. Her throat tightened. "The basement…"
Amara was quick to move, sliding onto the couch beside her, draping an arm across the back of it—not quite touching Evelyn, but close enough that Evelyn felt the weight of her presence. "You don't have to go down there. Not if you're not ready."
Evelyn blinked at her, startled by the sudden warmth in her tone.
"But we do," Silas countered. His voice cut through the moment like a knife. "If we wait, he controls the game. If we move first, maybe we have a chance."
The room split in two again—Silas's pragmatism on one side, Amara's protectiveness on the other. Evelyn sat between them, her body small and trembling beneath her blanket.
She hated it—hated being the reason they looked at each other like enemies.
Her voice came out thin, but steady. "Then… we plan both. We prepare to face the basement. But we also prepare for Edgar to come to me. Because he will. I can feel it."
Silas's eyes softened. Amara's narrowed. But neither argued.
---
The night stretched on as they talked, voices weaving plans out of fear and fragments. They wrote ideas onto scraps of paper, argued over where Evelyn should sleep, what doors to lock, what escape routes to keep ready.
Silas was logical, methodical. He sketched out maps, even scribbled a list of supplies they'd need—flashlights, batteries, something stronger than Evelyn's kitchen knife.
Amara's approach was different. She talked about shadows, about learning the timing of footsteps, about watching for the smallest crack in Edgar's patterns. She spoke like someone who had been preparing for a fight her whole life.
Every time Silas suggested a detail, she pushed back—sometimes with reason, sometimes with a sharpness that felt personal.
When Evelyn grew too quiet, Amara shifted closer, brushing her shoulder lightly against Evelyn's, murmuring, "Don't let him scare you. You're not alone. Not anymore."
Silas noticed. Evelyn saw it in the way his gaze lingered, unreadable.
But she was too tired to question it, too tired to untangle the knots tying her to both of them. All she could do was breathe, and hope that between Silas's steadiness and Amara's fierceness, she might stand a chance.
---
By the time the clock blinked past midnight, Evelyn's eyelids grew heavy.
Silas stood, stretching his back, and said, "We'll take shifts. I'll stay near the window. If anything moves, I'll know."
Amara smirked faintly. "And you think he'll walk up like a polite guest? He doesn't need the window. He needs her."
The words landed heavier than Evelyn expected.
Amara caught herself, softening her tone. "You should rest, Evelyn. Come on, I'll sit with you until you fall asleep."
Silas opened his mouth, as if to argue, but Evelyn shook her head weakly. "Please. No more. Just… let's make it through tonight."
Reluctantly, Silas nodded.
Evelyn let Amara guide her upstairs, her arm brushing against hers, her voice low and soothing. But as she lay in bed, listening to Amara's soft hum of comfort, she caught Silas's shadow through the crack of the door—silent, watchful.
Two protectors. Two forces pulling in different directions.
And beneath it all, the faint echo of knives.
---
The house was quieter than Evelyn had ever known it, but not in a comforting way. Every board, every shadow, every sigh of the wind against the shutters seemed sharpened by the knowledge of Edgar's presence somewhere out there.
Sleep came to her in broken patches, her mind still replaying the look on his face at the university gates—the slow smile, the certainty in his eyes. She woke often, each time to find Amara sitting in the chair beside her bed, her posture steady, her eyes catching the dim light. She looked more like a sentinel than a friend.
Each time Evelyn stirred, Amara whispered, "Go back to sleep. I'm here."
It should have soothed her. It almost did. But the weight of Amara's gaze lingered even after she drifted off again.
---
By morning, Silas had barely moved from the downstairs window. Evelyn found him there with his jacket still on, dark circles shadowing his eyes. He turned when she came down the stairs, his expression softening slightly.
"You slept?" he asked.
"Barely," she admitted.
Amara appeared behind her, moving quietly as if she'd been awake the whole night too. She placed a hand on Evelyn's shoulder, guiding her gently toward the kitchen. "Breakfast first. Then we talk."
They sat at the small table, Evelyn between the two of them, her untouched mug of coffee growing cold in her hands. The air was thick with unspoken words until Silas finally broke it.
"We need more than scraps of ideas. Edgar's been one step ahead because he knows this place—knows its history. If we're going to stop him, we have to learn what he already knows."
Amara raised a brow. "And you think that's something we'll just find in a library? This isn't a storybook."
"Every killer leaves a trail," Silas said calmly. "Even if it's just whispers, rumors, newspaper clippings. Someone has to have written about what happened here."
He reached into his pocket and unfolded a rough sketch of the town's layout he'd drawn last night. He pointed to a spot near the center. "There's an old records office near the town hall. If anything still exists about the disappearances, it'll be there."
Evelyn stared at the paper, her stomach twisting. Records of the missing. Records of the dead. People who had once lived here, their voices now carved into her head like knives.
"Do you really think we'll find his name there?" she whispered.
"Maybe not his name," Silas admitted. "But pieces of him. Enough to understand how he works."
Amara leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. Her eyes slid to Silas with something sharper than skepticism. "And while you're off playing detective, what happens if Edgar comes back here? Evelyn won't be unprotected."
Her hand brushed Evelyn's arm—light, but lingering. "She shouldn't be left alone. Not for a second."
Evelyn glanced between them, heat rising to her cheeks at the way Amara's words pressed so close. Silas's jaw tightened, but his voice stayed even.
"I wasn't suggesting we leave her. We go together."
"Not a chance," Amara shot back instantly. "Dragging her out into danger just so you can flip through dusty files? That's not protecting her."
The silence that followed was heavy. Evelyn shifted, clutching her mug tighter, wishing she could disappear between them.
Finally, she whispered, "I don't want to be left behind."
That made them both look at her. Silas's gaze was steady, filled with concern. Amara's softened, almost tender.
"I've spent my whole life being told to stay behind," Evelyn said quietly. "To be quiet. To be small. If he's hunting me, then hiding won't make it stop. I need to know too. I need to see what's in those records."
Amara's hand curled into a fist against her knee, but she forced a small smile. "If that's what you want… then fine. But I stay by your side. Always."
There was no room for argument in her tone.
---
They spent the rest of the morning preparing. Silas listed what they'd need—flashlights, spare batteries, a few tools in case doors were locked. Amara insisted on checking Evelyn's locks again, moving through the house with a soldier's efficiency.
Evelyn trailed after them, half-distracted by her own thoughts. She should have been terrified at the idea of going into town, at the thought of digging into the past Edgar had carved in blood. But a strange calm lingered beneath the fear. For the first time, she wasn't alone.
Still, the tension between Silas and Amara threaded through every moment, like wires sparking under the surface.
When Evelyn went upstairs to grab her bag, she paused on the landing, hearing their voices drift up from below.
Silas's voice: low, warning. "Don't crowd her. She's already under enough pressure."
Amara's reply: smooth, edged. "And who are you to decide that? She trusts me. She needs me. More than she needs you."
Evelyn's breath caught. She froze, gripping the railing until her knuckles ached.
Silence followed downstairs, heavy and tense.
When she returned, both of them acted as if nothing had been said. Amara offered a reassuring smile. Silas's expression was unreadable. Evelyn forced herself to mirror their calm, though her chest still ached with the echo of Amara's words.
---
By the time the sun began to sink, painting the sky in bruised colors, they had packed everything they needed. Evelyn stood at the doorway with her coat buttoned, Silas at her side.
Amara locked the door behind them with deliberate care, slipping the key into her pocket instead of handing it to Evelyn.
"You'll be safe," she murmured, meeting Evelyn's gaze with quiet intensity. "I'll make sure of it."
Silas glanced at the key, his brow furrowing slightly, but he didn't comment. Evelyn caught the flicker of unease and pushed it aside.
Because for now, she needed to believe in both of them.