The sun was too bright for a Thursday.
Serene blinked up at the sky, shielding her eyes with a sleeve that still smelled faintly like Idris' cologne. He'd given her his jacket the night before — and even though it was a little too long in the sleeves and too soft around the shoulders, she hadn't taken it off since.
For once, her morning felt gentle. No nightmares. No strange sounds outside the door. Just warmth.
She worked her shift at the bookstore. She sipped sweet tea during break. She laughed with a customer who thought the romance section was alphabetized by "hotness."
And no one followed her home.
That's what felt strangest of all.
The quiet wasn't right.
When she unlocked her apartment door, she noticed it immediately — the air. It didn't move. Didn't hum with the low current of life. It was as if the space had been… reset.
Her pillow was too smooth.
Her mug was back in the cupboard — she hadn't put it there.
She froze.
Turned around.
Nothing.
No one.
But a small white envelope had been slid beneath the edge of her bathroom door. There was no stamp. No handwriting.
She picked it up with fingers that had begun to tremble.
Inside was a single sheet of paper, torn from a sketchbook.
The drawing was unmistakable.
Her.
Drawn in pale pencil lines. Lying in bed. Sleeping.
Someone had captured the curve of her jaw. The bend of her knee. The shadow of her breasts beneath the blanket.
But it was the details that made her blood run cold.
The missing hair clip on her nightstand.
The shirt she only wore to bed.
The way the blanket barely covered her thigh — a pose she only remembered from last night.
She dropped the page.
Then she saw the back of it.
Scrawled in thick red crayon, crooked and too childlike to feel innocent:
> "You've had your fun. Now come home."
---
Across the city, Lelo sat curled in a velvet chair, humming a lullaby no one had taught her.
"She read it?" she asked her father.
Roman didn't respond.
He was already packing.
---
Back in the apartment, Serene tried to call Idris.
No answer.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Her heart thudded like something trapped in a jar.
She went to the window. Peeked outside.
And froze.
There — across the street — stood a little girl in a yellow dress.
Still.
Smiling.
Watching.
Serene backed away from the glass.
Something inside her screamed: Run.
But it was already too late.
The hour had ended.
---
This ends Part One — The Days of Her Freedom.