I don’t remember crossing the room.

One second I was frozen in the kitchen doorway, staring at the half-typed message on my mother’s phone. The next, I was on my knees in the hallway, pulling the dish towel from her mouth.

“Mom—oh my God—Mom—”

Her lips were dry, trembling. “Don’t—” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Don’t make noise.”

My hands fumbled at the knot around her wrists. It was tight—too tight—cutting into her skin. “Who is it?” I whispered, my voice barely air.

Her eyes flicked toward the basement door again.

“I don’t know,” she breathed. “He came in through the back. I thought it was you. I thought—” Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. “He told me to send that message.”

A cold wave moved through my body, starting in my chest and spreading outward until my fingers felt numb.

“How long?” I asked.

“Since… since morning. I tried to—” She glanced toward the kitchen. “I tried to stall. I said I had to cook. I thought maybe one of you would come anyway.”

“I did,” I whispered, forcing a small, shaky smile. “I’m here.”

The knot loosened suddenly under my fingers, and I pulled the towel free. She gasped, rubbing her wrists, her breathing uneven.

“We need to leave,” I said immediately.

She grabbed my arm with surprising strength. “No. He said—he said if anyone left, if anyone called the police—”

A sound came from the basement.

A slow, deliberate thud.

We both froze.

Another step.

Wood creaking.

Someone was coming up the stairs.

My mother’s grip tightened painfully. “He’s coming.”

My heart slammed against my ribs so hard it hurt.

Think.

Think.

There was no time to run out the front door—not without crossing the hallway, not without him seeing us. The back door meant passing the kitchen.

Nowhere felt safe.

“Listen to me,” I whispered, leaning close to her. “When I say run, you run. Don’t look back. Don’t stop.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Claire—”

“Run,” I repeated.

The basement door creaked open.

The sound sliced through the house like a blade.

I stood slowly, turning toward it, my entire body trembling despite every effort to stay steady.

A man stepped into the doorway.

He wasn’t what I expected.

Not masked. Not wild-eyed.

He looked… ordinary.

Mid-forties, maybe. Thin. Clean clothes. A calm face that didn’t match the situation at all.

That was the worst part.

His eyes landed on me.

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then he sighed.

“You weren’t supposed to come,” he said, almost tired.

My voice came out sharper than I felt. “Neither were you.”

His lips twitched—not quite a smile. “Fair enough.”

Behind me, I could feel my mother shaking.

“Let her go,” I said.

“I was going to,” he replied. “Eventually.”

“Now.”

He tilted his head, studying me. “You’re Claire.”