Chapter 4 — The First Panic Attack

The air in Adrian’s apartment felt wrong.

Too still. Too quiet.

Like someone had pressed pause on the entire building while he wasn't looking.

It was mid-morning, but the light that filtered through his curtains was gray and cold, barely cutting through the fog pressing against his windows. He hadn’t slept after hearing those footsteps. He hadn’t even moved, not really.

Just lay there, frozen, knife gripped in one clammy hand, eyes fixed on the door.

No one had come in. The chair he'd wedged under the knob was untouched. But something in him knew, without evidence, that whoever was doing this had been close.

Too close.

By the time the sun began to rise, his chest felt like it was wrapped in steel wire.

He couldn’t get warm. His hands shook when he poured water into the kettle. He burned his tongue on the first sip of tea but barely noticed.

Adrian had always lived with a low hum of anxiety, but this was different. This wasn’t the usual background static. This was a scream behind a locked door, muffled and growing louder by the second.

He dropped into the armchair near the window, legs curled beneath him, his gaze darting from shadow to shadow. He wasn’t even sure what he was watching for. A flicker of movement? A reflection of someone’s eyes? Something—anything—that would make this feeling make sense.

He jumped when his phone buzzed.

A text.

Jace:

Checking in. You alive?

Adrian stared at the message. The normalcy of it didn’t comfort him—it felt fake. Too ordinary for the reality unraveling in his mind.

His fingers hovered over the screen. He wanted to reply. Wanted to tell someone he wasn’t okay.

Instead, he turned the phone over, screen-down on the coffee table, and closed his eyes.

And that’s when it hit.

The weight.

A crushing, suffocating pressure in his chest like someone had placed a boulder on top of him. His breathing quickened—too shallow, too fast. His heart hammered wildly, not in his chest but in his ears, behind his eyes, beneath his skin.

He couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

His hands clawed at the front of his sweater like it was choking him. His legs kicked against the chair. His vision blurred at the edges.

I’m dying, he thought, as panic gripped his lungs like a fist. I’m going to die right here.

He collapsed onto the floor, palms flat against the cold tile, gasping like a fish out of water.

And then—softly—he heard a voice.

Not out loud. Not real.

But so clear it felt spoken.

“Breathe, Adrian. Breathe for me.”

It was him.

The voice from the recording.

Evan.

Adrian’s eyes flew open, heart stalling in his chest.

No. No, he’s not here. It’s not real.

But the voice was in his head, curling into the spaces his fear had carved out.

“You’re okay. Just breathe. In, and out. I’ve got you.”

His mind latched onto the sound—smooth, steady, low. Wrong in every possible way, and yet comforting like a lullaby sung by a monster.

He didn’t want to obey, but his body listened anyway.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

The world slowly began to take shape again.

The walls stopped tilting.

The pressure eased.

He lay there for what felt like hours, trembling, drenched in sweat, the voice echoing faintly behind his ribs like a ghost.

By the time he pulled himself up, his knees were weak, his mouth dry, and his thoughts scattered like ash.

What’s happening to me?

He looked around the apartment like he might find Evan in the shadows, standing in the corner, watching with those unseen eyes.

But no one was there.

Still, Adrian moved through the space like he wasn’t alone. He left lights on in every room. He locked the bathroom door behind him. He didn’t shower—he didn’t want to be that exposed. He didn’t eat. He didn’t speak.

And he didn’t tell Jace.

Because how do you explain that the voice of your stalker is inside your head—and it’s the only thing that helped you survive?

By nightfall, Adrian’s hands had stopped shaking, but the feeling hadn’t passed. It just changed form. Now, it wasn’t panic—it was dread. He felt like something was building inside him, something ready to burst.

Then the power went out.

All at once—lights, heater, fridge. Gone.

The darkness that followed was instant and absolute.

Adrian froze.

He waited for the hum of the refrigerator to return, the click of lights flickering back on.

Nothing.

His phone’s flashlight offered weak illumination as he stumbled to the fuse box.

All switches were in place. No reason for the outage.

Then his phone buzzed.

A new message.

Unknown Number:

“I told you I see everything. Even your fear.”