clanking loudly in the silence, and then slam it shut after selecting the largest knife. I’m too pissed to be quiet and sneaky. Whoever is hiding in here will hear me coming from a mile away, but I don’t care. I have no desire to hide. I’m seething now. I don’t like someone thinking they can just break into my home while I’m sleeping upstairs. And I especially don’t like someone making me feel vulnerable in my own house. And then to have the audacity to leave me a flower like a fucking weirdo? They may have made that rose powerless by clipping its thorns, but I will gladly show them a rose is still fucking deadly when it’s shoved down their throat. I thoroughly check the main and second floor, but don’t find anyone waiting for me. It isn’t until I’m at the end of the hallway on the second floor, staring at the door that leads to the attic, that my search comes to a screeching halt. I’m frozen to the spot. Every time I try to force my feet forward, berating myself for not searching every single room in the manor, I can’t bring myself to move. Every single one of my instincts is screaming at me to not go near that door. That I will find something terrifying if I do. The attic was where Nana would often retreat, spending her days up there knitting while humming a tune, several fans blowing at her from every direction during the summertime. I swear I hear those tunes coming from the attic some days, but I can’t ever bring myself to go up there and look. A feat that I apparently won’t overcome tonight, either. I don’t have the courage to go up there. The adrenaline fumes are running out, and exhaustion is weighing heavily on my bones. Sighing, I drag my feet back down to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. I chug it in three swallows before refilling and emptying it again. I slump down on the barstool in front of the island, finally setting the knife down. A thin layer of sweat dampens my forehead, and when I lean over and rest it against the cold marble countertop, it sends chills throughout my body. The person is gone, but my house isn’t the only thing they intruded on tonight. They’re in my head now—just like they fucking wanted.