Chapter 4: The Stranger at the Door

The knock echoed through the silent apartment, sharp and deliberate.

Lily’s breath hitched.

She had been staring at James’s letter just moments before, trying to make sense of the impossible—letters appearing out of nowhere, warnings of unseen dangers, a name that should mean nothing to her but did.

And now, someone was at her door.

Someone who knew her name.

She stood frozen, fingers hovering inches from the doorknob, her heart hammering against her ribs.

Then—the voice came again.

Low. Steady. Familiar in a way that sent chills down her spine.

“Lily. Open the door.”

Every instinct screamed at her to not obey.

Her throat felt dry. “Who are you?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay steady.

Silence stretched.

Then, the man exhaled. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Lily tightened her grip on the edge of the table beside her. “Try me.”

Another pause.

Then—the doorknob turned.

Lily’s stomach dropped.

It was locked.

But whoever stood outside was trying to get in.

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she stumbled backward. “Stop!” she shouted, gripping a nearby lamp as if it could be a weapon. “I’ll call the police!”

The man hesitated. “Lily, please. I’m not here to hurt you.”

Her breath came fast, uneven. “Then why are you here?”

Another long pause.

Then—the lights flickered.

A whisper of wind swept through the apartment, though the windows were shut tight. The air shifted—heavy, charged, like a storm about to break.

Lily’s skin prickled.

Something wasn’t right.

“You have the letters,” the man said finally, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “That means they’ve already found you.”

Lily’s grip on the lamp tightened. “Who are they?”

The man hesitated again. “The ones who don’t want you to remember.”

Her blood ran cold.

She opened her mouth to demand more answers, but then—the knocking stopped.

A deep silence settled in the air, thick and suffocating.

Lily’s breath came out in short, uneven gasps.

Had he… left?

She hesitated, then—very slowly—pressed her eye against the peephole.

The hallway was empty.

Her stomach twisted.

A moment ago, someone had been there. She had felt their presence—heard their voice.

And now, there was nothing.

She stepped away from the door, her entire body trembling.

Her gaze flickered to her nightstand, where James’s letter still lay.

"You must not look for me… Because if you do, they will find you."

Her fingers curled into fists.

Who were they?

And was the man at her door one of them?

She wasn’t sure which scared her more—the idea that she had just spoken to a stranger who had vanished without a trace…

Or the growing suspicion that she knew him.

The Past That Shouldn’t Exist

Lily barely slept that night.

Every time she closed her eyes, she heard the voice.

"You must not look for me."

"You wouldn’t believe me if I told you."

And worst of all—the whisper from her dream.

"You have to remember."

Morning arrived with an eerie stillness. The storm had passed, but the weight in her chest remained.

She moved through her apartment in a daze, her fingers brushing over the letter James had left. The parchment felt warmer than before, as if someone had just written it.

Lily hesitated. Then, making a split-second decision, she grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled a response.

Who are you, James?

She folded the note carefully and placed it back on the windowsill.

A foolish hope burned in her chest—that by some miracle, she would wake up and find a reply waiting for her.

She left for work, shoving her unease to the back of her mind.

The Man Who Never Left

Fairbrook was quieter than usual that morning. The bookstore smelled like fresh coffee and old paper, usually comforting—but today, it felt suffocating.

She went through the motions, restocking shelves, adjusting displays, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Then—the bell above the door chimed.

Lily looked up.

Her breath stalled.

It was him.

The man from last night.

He stood just inside the entrance, his tall frame clad in the same dark coat. His gaze locked onto hers with a strange intensity, as if he had been searching for her.

The air in the bookstore seemed to thicken.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, he took a step forward.

Lily’s fingers gripped the counter. “You.”

His expression didn’t change. “I told you you wouldn’t believe me.”

A thousand questions clawed at her mind, but only one made it past her lips. “Who are you?”

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. “That depends. Do you want the truth, or do you want the answer that will let you sleep at night?”

Lily’s pulse jumped.

“I want the truth.”

The man’s jaw tensed.

Then, quietly, he said—

“My name is James.”

The world tilted.

Lily’s breath caught. “No. That’s—” She shook her head, stepping back. “That’s impossible.”

“I know,” he said, watching her closely. “But it’s the truth.”

Lily stared at him, her mind reeling. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. “James doesn’t exist. He’s just—” She gestured vaguely toward the letters. “A ghost. A story. A name that means nothing.”

James tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes unreadable. “Are you sure about that?”

Her heart pounded.

No.

She wasn’t sure.

Because something deep inside her—the same something that had whispered to her in her dreams, the same something that had screamed at her when she saw him last night—was telling her that she did know him.

That she had known him for a long, long time.

And that was the most terrifying part of all.

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