The first rule of being a travel vlogger:
If you don't look happy,
people will call you ungrateful.
The second rule:
If you look too happy,
people will call you a liar.
And the third rule—
If you exist as a woman on camera,
they will always find something to punish you for.
Today's punishment was my scent.
Not my voice.
Not my outfit.
Not my face.
My scent.
I was standing in front of a sunrise cliff with a view so insane it looked edited by God Himself, holding my phone at the perfect angle, smiling like I didn't have bills, trauma, or a broken relationship with a man who could erase people from cities.
I hit record.
"Good morning, babes," I purred into the lens, lifting my iced coffee like a trophy. "Welcome back to Luna Vale's 'I'm definitely not running away from my life' tour."
The wind tugged at my hair.
The ocean behind me roared like applause.
I was wearing my favorite crop top—black, snug, confident.
The kind of top that made women comment "SLAY."
And made men comment like they owned air.
I ended the clip with a wink.
Perfect.
Viral bait.
I posted it before I could overthink it.
Then my notifications exploded.
Not with love.
With the same stupid joke that had followed me for months.
[COMMENT SECTION - LIVE]
- "Pretty but why she always look like she smell sour 😭"
- "Luna Vale: the walking vinegar aesthetic"
- "Not fragrant queen"
- "Sour Kiss, Sweet Kill 😭😭😭"
- "Girl go shower pls"
- "It's giving lemon left in the sun"
- "I can smell this video through my screen"
I stared at the screen.
My smile stayed.
My jaw didn't.
Because this was the part they never filmed:
The moment your skin goes cold.
Not because you're embarrassed.
Because you realize people don't see you as human.
They see you as a thing they can throw words at.
I forced a laugh, because I was trained for this.
I was a public figure.
A product.
A pretty target with Wi-Fi.
"Sour scent," I muttered, thumb hovering over the delete button.
I didn't delete it.
I never deleted.
If you delete, they win.
So I did what I always did.
I turned hate into content.
I opened my camera again and recorded a story.
"Okay," I said brightly, like my soul wasn't clenching. "Quick update: apparently I'm not fragrant today."
I leaned closer to the lens.
"So if anyone wants to sponsor me… deodorant… perfume… holy water…"
I paused, then smiled wider.
"Drop the link. Help your girl evolve."
I posted it.
My DMs flooded.
Some laughing.
Some supportive.
Some disgusting.
And one message that made my stomach go tight.
[DM - UNKNOWN USER]
You shouldn't be alone in the Blank Zone.
I blinked.
Blank Zone?
That wasn't a trend.
That wasn't a meme.
That was a place.
A rural borderland area between the city and the countryside—
where the signal died,
where roads didn't make sense,
where people joked about "villages that aren't on maps."
A place locals called forbidden like it was a bedtime story.
I typed back.
Who is this?
The typing bubble appeared.
Then vanished.
Then a new message arrived.
[DM - UNKNOWN USER]
You smell like something worth keeping.
My thumb froze.
My skin crawled.
I locked my phone.
Told myself it was just another freak.
But my body didn't believe me.
Because fear isn't logical.
Fear is ancient.
Fear is your bones remembering the sound of a door locking.
I inhaled.
The air smelled like salt and coffee and sun.
Normal.
Safe.
I told myself I was safe.
Then I noticed something I shouldn't have.
A car.
Parked too far behind the tourist area.
Not close enough to be "here for the view."
Not far enough to be "just passing."
It was black.
Too clean.
Too expensive.
And it had been there for at least ten minutes.
I hadn't noticed it because I was trained to focus on the lens.
The lens is your world.
Everything else becomes background.
I turned my head slightly.
The windows were tinted.
I couldn't see inside.
But I felt it.
That sensation every woman knows:
Being watched.
Not admired.
Watched.
Like a decision was being made.
I swallowed.
Okay. Chill. Luna.
Maybe it's security.
Maybe it's another tourist.
Maybe it's—
The passenger door opened.
And a woman stepped out.
Elegant.
Black dress.
Soft cardigan.
Hair pinned like she belonged in a magazine, not a cliffside parking lot.
She smiled when she saw me.
It wasn't friendly.
It was… pleased.
Like she'd finally found something she'd been searching for.
My heart thumped once.
Hard.
Then a man stepped out from the driver's side.
Tall.
Calm.
Plain-looking in the way predators always are.
Predators don't dress like monsters.
They dress like people you'd trust.
He walked around the hood of the car and met the woman's side like they were a couple on vacation.
Except they didn't look at the ocean.
They looked at me.
The woman lifted a hand in a gentle wave.
"Luna Vale?" she called, voice soft as warm milk.
My blood iced.
I didn't answer.
I didn't move.
I didn't smile.
Because if a stranger knows your full name in the middle of nowhere—
That's not a coincidence.
That's a hunt.
The woman took a step closer.
Her eyes were bright.
Kind.
The kind of kindness that makes you forget knives exist.
"I'm Vera," she said. "We've been watching your videos. You're so brave."
My stomach twisted.
Watching.
Not "I love your content."
Not "I'm a fan."
Watching.
The man beside her smiled too.
"Silas," he said politely. "Sorry if this is weird. We didn't want to scare you."
My pulse jumped.
Because the moment someone says "I didn't want to scare you,"
they already did.
I kept my voice light.
"Hi," I said. "Thanks. Um… are you guys lost?"
Vera laughed softly, like I was adorable.
"No, sweetheart," she said. "We're exactly where we need to be."
My throat went dry.
I shifted my weight, subtly angling my body so my car was in my peripheral.
Keys in pocket.
Pepper spray in bag.
Wing Chun wasn't magic.
It was survival.
It was distance.
Timing.
Pain.
I could fight.
But I couldn't fight a bullet.
And I couldn't fight a system.
Vera tilted her head.
"You're even prettier in person," she said. "The internet is cruel to you."
My skin prickled.
She took another step.
Then another.
Too close.
I stepped back.
She stopped immediately.
Her smile didn't fade.
It sharpened.
"Oh," she said gently. "Don't worry. We're not here to hurt you."
Silas's eyes flicked over me like he was memorizing details.
Crop top.
Shorts.
Phone.
Bag.
He smiled wider.
"We're here because of your scent," he said.
My stomach dropped.
My mouth opened, but no sound came out.
Vera sighed like she was talking about something sacred.
"It's rare," she whispered. "So many girls smell like sugar. Like fake flowers. Like lies."
Her eyes half-lidded.
"But you…"
She inhaled slowly.
Like she could taste me through air.
"You smell real."
My spine went cold.
I backed up again.
This time I didn't hide it.
My hand slid toward my pocket.
Vera's smile turned tender.
"Don't run," she said softly.
The word hit my nerves like a slap.
Run.
Why would she say that?
Unless she expected me to.
Unless she'd done this before.
I forced a laugh.
"I'm not running," I said. "I'm literally just… going to my car."
Silas nodded.
"Of course," he said. "We can walk with you."
No.
No no no.
I shook my head quickly.
"No, it's fine. I'm good."
Vera's eyes flicked to my car.
Then back to me.
And her voice dropped into something that sounded like a lullaby.
"You shouldn't drive alone in this area," she said. "This is… the Blank Zone."
My breath caught.
So they knew.
They named it like it mattered.
Silas smiled, gentle as a doctor.
"People disappear here," he said. "But don't worry. We won't let that happen to you."
My heart slammed.
Because that sentence had two meanings.
One of them was protection.
The other was ownership.
I took one more step back.
And then I saw it.
Behind them—
on the edge of the parking lot—
a third figure.
A man on a motorcycle.
Helmet on.
Face hidden.
He hadn't been there before.
Or maybe he had.
Maybe I just hadn't noticed.
Because the lens trained me to ignore everything that wasn't content.
The biker's head turned slowly toward me.
And I felt his gaze like pressure.
Vera noticed my attention shift.
She smiled wider.
"Oh," she said, like she was delighted. "He's here too."
My blood went cold.
I whispered, "Who?"
Vera's voice stayed soft.
"Our friend," she said. "He watches the roads."
Silas's tone was polite.
"He likes pretty girls who don't know where they are," he added.
I didn't think.
I moved.
I spun toward my car and ran.
My sandals slapped the ground.
My bag bounced against my hip.
My lungs burned.
I heard Vera call my name, still sweet.
"Luna!"
I heard Silas laugh.
Not loud.
Not crazy.
Just… amused.
Like my fear was entertainment.
My fingers hit my car handle.
I yanked it open—
And froze.
Because my car door was unlocked.
But the inside light didn't turn on.
The dashboard didn't blink.
Dead.
No power.
No response.
My phone vibrated.
I didn't want to look.
I looked anyway.
NO SIGNAL.
My throat tightened so hard it hurt.
Behind me, footsteps approached.
Slow.
No rush.
No panic.
Because they weren't afraid of me getting away.
They were afraid of me wasting their time.
Vera's voice floated behind my shoulder.
"So impulsive," she sighed, almost fond. "That's why we like you."
Silas's breath brushed my ear.
"And that's why you won't survive," he murmured.
My hand shot into my bag.
Pepper spray.
My fingers closed around it.
I spun—
and sprayed.
The mist hit air.
Nothing.
Because the nozzle was gone.
The cap was missing.
Someone had opened my bag.
Someone had touched my things.
My stomach dropped into hell.
Vera stepped closer, smiling like a mother comforting a child.
"Shh," she whispered. "It's okay. You don't have to be scared."
I stared at her.
My voice shook.
"Get away from me."
Vera's smile softened.
Silas leaned slightly, like he was curious.
"Your scent gets stronger when you're angry," he said quietly. "Did you know that?"
My entire body screamed.
I stepped back, forcing space.
My hands lifted into a Wing Chun guard without me deciding.
Vera's eyes gleamed.
"Oh," she whispered. "She fights."
Silas's smile widened.
"She fights," he echoed, like a prayer.
The biker's engine revved behind them.
Low.
Patient.
A threat that didn't need to chase.
Vera took one more step.
And this time her voice changed.
Still gentle.
But colder.
"You're coming with us, Luna," she said. "You just don't know it yet."
My breath shook.
I forced my voice steady.
"I have people who track me," I lied.
Silas tilted his head.
"Good," he said. "So they'll know exactly where you vanished."
My stomach flipped.
Vera's gaze dropped to my phone.
Then back to my eyes.
"And you're live," she murmured, smiling like she'd won. "Aren't you?"
My blood froze.
Because I was.
My camera light was on.
I'd hit record when I ran.
Reflex.
Habit.
Content brain.
I hadn't even realized.
The whole thing—
my panic,
my sprint,
my helplessness—
was filming.
Broadcasting.
To anyone watching.
To anyone hunting.
Vera leaned closer and whispered, sweet as poison:
"Smile, Luna."
Silas's voice followed, quiet and surgical.
"Someone has your live location," he said.
"And it's not a fan."
END OF CHAPTER 1
CLIFFHANGER: LOCKED