Page 78 of Stalker's Toy

I can’t get caught.

A concerned voice calls out from a nearby doorway. "Hey, miss! Are you all right?"

I don't answer, don't even look back.

My feet carry me forward, driven by pure instinct and terror.

The cobblestones beneath me are treacherous, slick with rain and centuries of grime.

I slip, catching myself against a rough brick wall.

My palm scrapes against the surface, leaving behind a smear of blood.

The pain is grounding, anchoring me to this moment.

I pause, gasping for air, and try to get my bearings.

Where am I?

How far have I run?

The streets all look the same in the darkness, a labyrinth of Victorian architecture and modern storefronts.

A group of late-night revelers stumbles past, their laughter grating against my frayed nerves.

I press myself deeper into the shadows, willing myself to become invisible.

My heart is still racing, but the initial surge of adrenaline is fading, leaving me shaky and nauseous.

"What have I done?" I whisper to myself, the words barely audible over the ambient noise of the city. "Oh god, what have I done?"

The reality of the situation crashes over me like a tidal wave.

I've killed someone.

I've taken a life.

The fact that it was an accident doesn't matter.

She is dead because of me.

Henrik.

The thought of him sends a fresh wave of panic through me.

I force myself to start moving again,slower this time.

My ankle throbs with each step, a constant reminder of my vulnerability.

I need to find somewhere safe, somewhere I can hide and think.

As I limp down the street, my mind races through possibilities.

The pounding of footsteps behind me jolts me from my thoughts.

I whirl around, my heart leaping into my throat. Henrik's tall, lean figure emerges from the shadows, his icy blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl.

"Mia!" he calls out, his voice a mix of concern and something darker. "Stop running!"

---