It started with the sound of moving boxes.
I had been making tea, letting the kettle whistle softly, when the walls of my apartment seemed to hum with the sudden movement next door. A low grunt, the shuffle of something heavy, the tap of shoes on concrete steps. Someone had moved in. A new neighbor. I wasn't particularly social—my carefully crafted life thrived on distance—but I couldn't ignore the noise.
Curiosity tugged at me. I set my mug down, careful not to spill, and moved to the window, peeking through the thin blinds.
A man was hauling boxes up the stairs, bending under the weight with a slow, deliberate rhythm. His dark hair was messy, curling slightly at the nape of his neck, and he had that effortless, casual confidence that made people look twice. Not that I wanted to notice, but my eyes couldn't help it.
I stepped back, suddenly aware of how little I knew about this building's residents. I had chosen it for anonymity, for quiet. Two floors, ten apartments, friendly but distant neighbors. Never made waves, never asked questions. I preferred it that way.
A few minutes later, the hallway echoed with a knock at my door.
"Hello?" My voice was cautious, polite.
"Hi, sorry to bother you. I just moved in next door. Thought I should introduce myself."
I opened the door a crack, keeping my hand on the frame like a shield.
He smiled, a small, easy curve of lips that didn't quite reach his eyes, which were sharp and observant. He held a box under one arm, the other hand gesturing politely. "I'm Elias. Apartment 3B."
I nodded, lips tight. "Clara. 3A."
He raised a brow at the name, just a flicker, almost imperceptible, but my stomach dropped. He had known my old name before—or maybe he was just guessing. People often guessed, yes, but… no. There was something in his look, the way his eyes lingered on mine, just a moment too long, that set off alarms in my chest.
"Well, I won't keep you. Just wanted to say hello. Moving is a mess, huh?" He laughed softly, a sound that somehow put me on edge.
"Yeah. Sure," I murmured.
He nodded, shifting the box slightly, and I stepped back, letting him pass. The door closed softly, and I leaned against it, exhaling slowly.
Why did that feel wrong?
I tried to brush it off. A neighbor moving in wasn't a threat. But the twitch of recognition in his eyes—the almost imperceptible flicker when he heard my name—made my mind race. He knew something. He knew more than he should.
Over the next few days, I saw him occasionally in the hall. Carrying groceries. Talking to the landlord. Always polite, always smiling, always with that same sharp awareness, like he was cataloging everything he saw. And me. I couldn't be sure, but it felt like he was watching me. Testing me.
I avoided him whenever I could, ducking into my apartment early, leaving late, varying my routines. But Boise was a small town. Patterns were easy to notice. He seemed to appear wherever I was—at the corner café, the little bookstore, even the park bench I liked to sit on with my notebook.
I hated that I was thinking about him so much.
One evening, as the sun dipped behind the mountains, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple, I saw him outside my window again. Noticing me notice him, he waved. Just a casual wave, but my chest tightened. My pulse raced.
Why is he waving at me?
I grabbed my coat, stepping outside to buy a bottle of water. He was standing by the stairs, pretending to look at his phone, but the second I passed, his gaze followed me. I ducked into the street, turning corners, making my route deliberately convoluted, but I couldn't shake the feeling he was shadowing me.
Back in my apartment, I slammed the door and locked it. My hands shook slightly as I traced the edge of the notebook on the table. He knows something. He knows Ava.
I tried to calm myself. I ran through the scenarios in my mind. Maybe he had seen old footage, maybe he'd recognized me in a crowd, maybe it was just coincidence. But I knew better. The way he moved, the way he observed, the way he reacted when he heard my name… he was deliberate. Precise. Dangerous.
I spent the rest of the night checking doors, windows, and blinds. Every sound outside made me jump, every footstep in the hallway set my nerves on fire. My heart wouldn't slow, not even when I closed my eyes.
And then, just when I thought I could breathe, my phone buzzed. Unknown number.
"You're careful. I like that. But even careful isn't enough."
I dropped the phone onto the table, my hands frozen. The writing—the wording—was familiar, chilling. He wasn't just testing me. He was sending messages. Taunting me. Luring me out.
I sank into the couch, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders. I tried to think, tried to calm myself, but every plan I considered seemed flawed. My past was coming back, inch by inch, threatening to swallow the life I had built.
I thought about Houdini's tricks—the smoke, the mirrors, the hidden escapes. I had survived before. I had emerged from beneath the water, from the fire, from the impossible. I could do it again.
But this time… the danger wasn't just the act. It was real.
I didn't know if Elias was an ally or another threat. But I knew one thing: I had to be careful. I had to watch, to observe, to plan. I had to stay ahead.
Because Ava, hidden beneath Clara, wasn't done yet.
And she wasn't going to let anyone take her freedom without a fight.