Chapter 4: Glass Cracks

Lena didn’t answer Kai’s message the next day.

Or the one after that.

She told herself she was just busy. That she needed to paint again, breathe again, get back to her routine. But the truth was quieter—and heavier. She was afraid.

Not of him. Not exactly.

Afraid of what she might find if she kept looking.

Kai had messaged twice the following evening.

“Missed your voice last night.”

“Did I say something wrong?”

She stared at the words, thumb hovering over her keyboard, but said nothing

Instead, she closed her curtains, turned off her phone, and lit a candle in the corner of her studio. She hadn't been in there for a while. The air smelled stale. Her canvas waited—still blank, still patient.

She stared at it for a long time.

When she finally picked up a brush, her hand hesitated. What was she even trying to say anymore?

Her art had always been her voice. But now, it felt like Kai had already spoken over it. Worse—like he had been speaking through it all along.

She painted anyway.

Slow strokes, dark colors. Red bled into gray, then black. A figure began to form—tall, faceless, arms outstretched like it wanted to embrace her, or devour her.

When she finished, she stepped back. The room felt colder.

She didn’t name the piece.

She didn’t post it online.

Instead, she left her studio and walked for the first time in days. Just around the block, to breathe, to remember the world beyond a screen. Her boots echoed against the sidewalk. Cars passed. A couple laughed across the street.

Normal life.

But when she got back to her apartment, her phone was buzzing. Five new messages.

All from Kai.

> “You disappeared.”

“I get it. You’re scared.”

“But you don’t need to be.”

“I would never hurt you.”

“You know me better than anyone.”

Her chest tightened. The first few messages were soft. Concerned. But the last one—it read like a warning. A reminder.

You know me better than anyone.

She didn’t reply.

She turned her phone off again.

But sleep didn’t come easy. Her mind spun in circles, chasing every message, every photo, every call. She thought of that old sketch. Of the image he had posted. Too similar. Too soon.

Coincidence? Maybe.

But she no longer trusted coincidence.

At 3:11 a.m., she got up and flipped the lock on her door. Then she moved a chair in front of it. It felt silly. Dramatic. But her heart slowed just a little.

As she settled back into bed, something occurred to her:

She had told Kai her building’s name in passing, weeks ago. She’d joked about the elevator never working. He’d replied with a laughing emoji and said, “Good thing I don’t mind stairs.”

Back then, it was charming.

Now?

Now it felt like glass cracking under pressure.

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