The Stalker Next Door: 33. Shackles in the Dark

The cabin smelled of blood and rain. Morning light seeped through the broken door, a weak gray beam spilling across the ruined floorboards. Mara sat at the edge of the couch, wrists aching, the phantom echo of the rope still clinging to her skin.

The First Watcher had risen before her, silent, brooding, pacing like a caged predator. His face was a map of bruises and cuts, his nose swollen and crooked where the Second had broken it. But what unsettled her most wasn’t the damage. It was the way his eyes never left her.

“You embarrassed me,” he said at last, voice low, brittle as glass about to shatter.

Mara’s throat dried. She forced her hands to stay still on her lap. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie.” His voice cracked like a whip. He turned sharply, closing the space between them, looming above her with a fury that shook in his frame. “You should have spoken. You should have ended him with your words. But you… let him stay.”

Her pulse hammered. “I was afraid.”