Part 47
(Adrian's POV)
The voice wouldn't stop.
Sometimes it came from the corner of the room, soft and teasing; sometimes from behind his own heartbeat.
Always the same words.
She doesn't deserve you.
He'd tried ignoring it. Tried convincing himself it was exhaustion — shock, maybe.
But when he closed his eyes, the whisper moved closer.
That morning, he'd found the flowers gone from the counter.
Vanished.
Leah swore she hadn't touched it.
But there was a faint mark on the table — a wet ring, as if something had been set down and lifted again.
Someone had moved it.
Someone had come inside again.
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Leah tried to make breakfast.
Her voice was calm, her hands steady, but every word came out too careful.
He couldn't stop watching her reflection in the microwave door.
"We'll leave tomorrow," she said.
"Where?"
"Somewhere safer."
"You said that before."
Her jaw tightened.
"You don't trust me anymore."
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
Because if he spoke, the voice might answer again — and this time, he wasn't sure he'd be able to tell which one of them was real.
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That night, thunder rolled over the forest.
The house creaked and sighed with every gust.
Adrian lay awake, staring at the ceiling.
Sleep wouldn't come.
When the whisper returned, it wasn't from nowhere — it came through something.
A low static hum from the ceiling lamp, vibrating faintly.
He sat up slowly.
The light flickered once, then steadied.
"You're not real," he whispered to the air.
She's lying to you, the air replied.
He stood, trembling.
Every sound in the room sharpened — the hiss of rain, the tick of the clock, his own breathing.
He could almost feel someone standing behind him.
But when he turned, it was just the window — open a crack.
Rain blowing in.
And on the sill, where the flower had been before, another one waited.