The morning after the attack, Erica sat in a daze as the police questioned her in her living room. She recounted everything-every second of the assault burned into her memory.
"I scratched him," she said firmly. "Left arm. Maybe his neck too. I don't know how deep, but I know I hurt him."
The officers nodded, taking notes. It was something-a starting point. But Erica knew that man was still out there.
Later that day, unable to sit still, Erica and Max returned to the scene-the edge of her backyard, the cracked window, the soil disturbed underfoot. Max's phone buzzed.
"Give me five minutes, I have to take this," he said, kissing her forehead before stepping away.
Alone, Erica wandered past the gate. That's when she saw him-a young boy, maybe ten, crouched near the fence. He was shivering, pale, eyes darting like he'd seen ghosts.
She approached slowly. "Hey... are you okay?"
The boy looked up and flinched. Then recognition softened his fear. "You... you're the girl from that night. Are you... are you okay?"
Erica froze. "What do you mean? That night?"
The boy nodded, eyes brimming with guilt. "I live across the street. I saw someone sneak in... I-I wanted to help but I got scared. I didn't know what to do..."
Her heartbeat raced. "Did you see anything else?"
His lips trembled. "I saw one of their faces when the mask slipped. Just for a second... I remember it. I swear I do."
Just then, Max returned, alarmed by Erica's expression. She turned to him. "He saw someone's face, Max. He saw him."
Max knelt beside the boy. "You're brave for telling us. We need to go to the police-can you do that?"
The boy hesitated, then nodded.
At the station, he described the face-sharp jawline, a scar under the eye, hair just peeking out from under the mask. It was enough for the police to match a potential suspect.
The man was brought in for questioning. The boy, trembling, identified him. But the victory was short-lived.
"He has an alibi," the officer said. "Footage shows he was across town that night. The boy's statement isn't enough-he's too young, and scared. Easily mistaken."
They thanked him and let the suspect walk free.
The next morning, the town woke to tragedy.
The boy-his name was Ishan-was found dead. Stabbed in an alley two blocks from his home.
Erica stared at the news, hands trembling. The message was clear:
Speak, and you die.
The game had changed. The predator wasn't just hiding anymore-he was watching.