Serene didn't notice when it began. That was the worst part.
It didn't come like thunder or like a scream. It crept in — soft as a misplaced hair, silent as breath on a mirror. At first, it was just a feeling. The sense that a moment lasted too long. A voice behind her that wasn't there when she turned. A shadow in a café window where no one was standing.
She blamed the double shifts. The cold. The loneliness.
She stopped blaming them the day her key didn't work.
It was a Tuesday. She was tired, hungry, and soaked through with sleet that hadn't quite become snow. Her fingers shook as she turned the key again, harder this time. Still nothing. She frowned, glanced at the doorframe, then again at her key. Same one. Same lock. Same door she'd opened every day for the past year.
She was already pulling out her phone to call Claire when the lock clicked — on its own.
The door eased open.
No wind. No creak. Just... open.
Claire wasn't home. Her shoes weren't by the door. Her bag wasn't in its usual place. The room was empty. Still.
She stepped inside, hesitant, leaving the door half-open behind her.
Something was off.
The blanket on the couch was folded neatly — too neatly. Like it had been measured. Her tea mug, which she'd left on the table that morning, was gone. She found it washed, dried, and upside down in the rack.
She blinked.
No. Not possible.
"Claire?" she called, though she already knew the answer.
No reply.
She checked her messages. Claire had posted a selfie at some party thirty minutes ago. Nowhere near the apartment.
Serene stared at the photo on her screen, then back at the couch.
She didn't sleep that night. She sat with the hallway light on, listening for sounds that never came. No footsteps. No creaks. No voices. But somehow, the silence felt... too quiet. Like it was trying not to be caught breathing.
In the morning, she found something tucked under her pillow.
A pressed violet.
Not fresh. Not completely dead either. Just... dried. As if it had been saved. As if someone knew it was her favorite flower and had waited until now to place it.
She held it in her palm, staring. For a second, she felt like she couldn't breathe.
Who knew?
Who had been close enough to learn that?
She wrapped it in tissue and stuffed it deep in her drawer, under textbooks she hadn't touched in weeks.
Later, at the café, she noticed the child again. Sitting by the window with that same stillness. That same strange familiarity. She never drank her hot chocolate. Just stared.
Serene glanced at her, unease tightening in her chest.
Why did she look so… known?
So intentional?
When their eyes met, the little girl smiled — small, strange, full of something unspoken.
Serene looked away quickly.
And didn't realize she was holding her breath.
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