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I step a little closer, emboldened by something reckless inside me.

‘Maybe I like a little trouble,’ I whisper, my tone flirtier than I intend.

He laughs. The sound is low and smooth, and goosebumps scatter over me. I’ve heard this laugh before, but not for a long time.

‘Oh,’ he says slowly, ‘I think you do. Otherwise, you wouldn’t have kept following me.’

I bite my lip, trying to keep my composure.

‘I don’t know why I’m back here,’ I say, feeling heat blossom down my neck. ‘I don’t even know who you are.’

He steps just a fraction closer, and I can smell the faint trace of something woody and dark beneath the mask, something undeniably him. He looks at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

‘I don’t believe you,’ he whispers.

The words feel like a slap in the face, because I am lying. To him. To myself. I’ve been doing it since the moment I followed him, pretending this is just a game, just a scare actor doing his job. Pretending I don’t recognise the cadence of his voice, the way he pauses before he speaks, like he’s choosing his words carefully.

Like he always did.

My heart thunders in my chest. I keep my expression smooth, but my thoughts are spiralling now, racing back through memories I haven’t let myself touch in years. A boy I knew once. A boy I lost long ago. A boy who used to look at me like he could see straight through whatever mask I was wearing. A boy who looked at me like I was the only girl in the world.

He lifts his gloved hand, curling a piece of my hair around his finger.

‘You can keep pretending,’ he murmurs. ‘But you’re bad at it.’

I swallow. ‘You don’t know me.’

That smirk deepens. He leans in, close enough that his voice drops even lower. It’s intimate and unmistakable. It’s not for the crowd, not for the show. This is all just for me. My heart is pounding so hard I feel like it might give me away. His gaze holds mine, searching, testing. Then he delivers the final move, like he’s setting a trap he’s already sure I’ll fall into.

‘So,’ he says, voice smooth, knowing, devastatingly familiar. ‘How’s the weather where you are?’

17

BRYN

Five Years Ago

My legs feel shaky and weak, like they always do when I hear his voice.

‘Hey,’ I murmur softly, hugging the phone to my ear.

‘Hey,’ he replies, his voice rough around the edges, familiar in a way that feels like coming home. ‘How are you holding up?’

I exhale slowly, letting the silence stretch before answering.

‘I don’t know,’ I admit. ‘I feel like I’m here, but I’m not. I don’t connect with anyone like I did back home. It’s lonely.’

I hear him shift on the other end. His sigh is weighed down by something I can’t quite pinpoint.

‘I know the feeling,’ he says. ‘I’m still trying to figure out how to survive at home. My brother, he’s …’ His voice drops, showing a hint of vulnerability that I’m positive he doesn’t show to anyone else. ‘He’s insane, and Dad is always home, but he’s not really here. I don’t know if that makes any sense.’

‘Makes total sense. It’s crazy, isn’t it? Feeling invisible in the middle of a crowd, feeling like no one really sees you?’

‘Yeah,’ he says softly. ‘Like you’re screaming, but the walls are too thick for anyone to hear.’

I pause, wanting to say something that makes it better, but there’s nothing that can. ‘I wish you were here.’

‘Me too.’