"To the girl who was marked to die-
And the version of himself that did."
Y/N didn't ask for this.
It was supposed to be a girls' trip. A few days of laughter, beaches, and blurry memories.
But somewhere between the airport terminal and the baggage...
The night after the call was a wound that didn't close.
Y-N sat on the cold floor tiles, knees hugged to her chest, the phone still clenched in her hand-screen dark now, like the room. Her breath stayed shallow, her eyes refusing to blink, as if doing so would loosen something inside her that she couldn't afford to let go. Her body trembled, not from fear, but from something more corrosive-uncertainty.
She hadn't slept. Not really. Not since the suitcase. Not since the message. Not since the call that she now doubted even reached the police. The sound of her own voice echoing back in the receiver still clawed at her. No confirmation tone. No words from dispatch. Just static... and then silence.
When dawn broke, it didn't look like morning. It looked like nothing. Pale light bleeding through drawn curtains. The hum of the refrigerator sounding like a low growl in the stillness.
She kept telling herself it was a mistake. That the suitcase belonged to someone else. That she had done the right thing, calling the police. But she couldn't shake the unease that her voice had never really reached them.
The first day passed like smoke. She didn't leave the apartment. She tried calling Leila.Once. Twice. Twenty times. No answer. The screen stayed heartbreakingly blank, and her messages remained "delivered"-never read.
By the second day, she stopped trying. Her voice felt useless anyway.
And that silence was getting to her. Not the kind of silence that's peaceful or still-but the kind that breathes. That listens. That seems to be waiting for something.
There was a moment she stood in the hallway with her back pressed to the wall, her ears straining like prey sensing the predator. She was sure-absolutely sure-she'd heard someone standing outside her door, breathing.
She didn't open it. She didn't even move. Just stood there, heart punching her ribs, for nearly an hour. When she finally peeked through the peephole, the corridor was empty. But her unease stayed behind.
The third day, things shifted.
Not dramatically. Not loudly.
It was just... a knock.
A soft one. Mid-morning. One she might've ignored on any other day, but this time, her paranoia made her curious. She hesitated before opening the door, only a fraction, chain still locked.
She saw a man. Dark hair. A calm, almost gentle face. He was holding a parcel.
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"Delivery for Y-N," he said with a soft lilt in his voice. He wasn't in uniform. Not postal. Not courier. Just... plain clothes. But not sloppy. He looked composed. Comfortable.
"I didn't order anything," she said automatically, not moving to take it.
He smiled. It was easy. Practiced, maybe. "its your adress miss."
