The Second Stream

Chapter Eight

Lila

The first thing I learned about disappearing is this:

You don’t vanish all at once.

You fade—piece by piece—while everyone is still looking at you.

I knew something was wrong two weeks before the livestream.

It started small. A message that wasn’t creepy enough to block. A comment that knew too much. Someone quoting things I’d only said out loud in my room, pacing, talking to myself like the walls weren’t listening.

You hide your fear well, the message said.

I laughed it off. Screen-shotted it. Sent it to Jade with a joke.

But that night, when I turned off my ring light, I saw the reflection in the window.

Someone standing behind me.

I spun around.

Nothing.

That was when I realized the scariest part wasn’t being watched.

It was being watched by someone who knew me.

By the time I figured out who, it was already too late.

The warehouse floor is freezing against my bare arms. My wrists ache where the rope cuts into them, tight enough to remind me not to move, not to hope.

The lights flicker overhead, buzzing like they’re alive.

I hear Jade scream my name, and something inside my chest cracks open.

She wasn’t supposed to come.

None of them were.

I lift my head, forcing my eyes to focus through the blur of tears. Jade is there—real, shaking, furious. Amir stands beside her, pale, his brain clearly racing faster than his fear.

And then there’s them.

The person I trusted.

The person who always knew where I was.

“You look disappointed,” they say lightly, stepping closer. “I told you they’d find you.”

I laugh, sharp and broken. “You didn’t tell me you’d kidnap me.”

“You weren’t supposed to fight back,” they reply. “That changed things.”

I remember the night of the stream.

I remember pressing Go Live with shaking hands, heart racing as comments poured in. I remember blinking twice—not for the audience, but for Jade. For anyone who might notice.

I remember the door opening behind me.

And the voice I knew saying, Don’t scream. You’ll ruin everything.

Jade

The sound Lila makes when she laughs is wrong. Too empty. Too tired.

Jade takes another step forward, ignoring Amir’s sharp intake of breath.

“You let us think she was dead,” Jade says, staring straight at the antagonist. “You let the whole world think that.”

They shrug. “Fear gets attention. Attention keeps people watching.”

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe,” they say. “But you all helped.”

They gesture toward Amir’s phone.

The livestream.

The comments are still flooding in. Thousands now.

Is this real?

This is fake, right?

Call the cops!

Don’t stop streaming.

Jade’s stomach churns. “You turned her pain into entertainment.”

The antagonist smiles wider. “No. I revealed the truth.”

They turn to Lila. “Tell them. Tell them what you realized.”

Lila closes her eyes.

When she opens them, she looks straight at the camera.

“At some point,” she says softly, “I stopped knowing who liked me… and who owned me.”

Jade’s throat tightens.

Amir

Amir’s mind is screaming patterns, exits, options—but the warehouse offers none. The doors are locked. The windows are too high. The antagonist is too calm.

That’s the worst part.

“You didn’t just stalk her,” Amir says slowly. “You engineered this. The account. The clues. The timing.”

“Of course,” they say. “Mystery keeps engagement high.”

Amir’s hands curl into fists. “You were testing us.”

“Yes.” Their eyes flick to him. “And you passed.”

A chill runs through Amir. “That’s not a compliment.”

“It is,” they say. “You’re exactly like me.”

“No,” Amir snaps. “I want to save her.”

The smile falters—just slightly.

“That’s where we differ.”

Suddenly, Lila gasps.

The rope around her wrists tightens as the antagonist pulls it, forcing her to stand.

“Enough talking,” they say. “Time for the ending.”

Jade moves without thinking.

She lunges.

Lila

Everything explodes at once.

Jade tackles them from the side, screaming my name. Amir shoves a crate forward, sending it crashing into the antagonist’s legs. The camera swings wildly, the livestream filling with chaos and shrieks and hearts and shocked emojis.

“Run!” Jade yells.

I try.

My legs buckle.

The antagonist recovers faster than I expect, slamming Jade into the floor. Amir swings again—harder this time—catching them in the shoulder.

I scream.

Not for help.

For anger.

Something snaps inside me.

I twist my wrists, ignoring the pain, and feel the rope give just enough. I yank harder.

It burns.

It tears.

But it breaks.

I grab the nearest thing—a metal rod, cold and heavy—and swing.

The impact jars my arms.

They cry out.

The lights flicker violently.

Sirens sound in the distance.

The antagonist looks at the camera one last time, blood on their lip, eyes wild.

“See?” they gasp. “You’re still watching.”

Then they run.

The sirens grow louder.

Police. Finally.

Jade collapses beside me, sobbing, clutching my face like she’s afraid I’ll disappear again.

Amir stands over us, shaking, his phone slipping from his hand as the livestream finally cuts out.

The warehouse fills with shouting, flashing lights, strangers.

But for the first time in weeks, I feel real.

Found.

As they wrap a blanket around my shoulders, I look at Jade and whisper, “I left clues.”

She nods fiercely. “I know. We followed them.”

I hesitate. “There’s something else.”

“What?”

“They weren’t alone.”

Jade stiffens.

“They never are,” Amir says quietly.

Outside, the night holds its breath.

And somewhere beyond the flashing lights, someone else stops watching.

For now.