I stood at the entrance, my hand gripping the cold metal handle. A fresh layer of glistening snow blanketed the ground in front of me. But something wasn’t right.

There were footprints.

My breath caught in my throat. They led away from the house—long, narrow prints pressed into the untouched snow. No one should’ve been here.

A sharp gust of icy wind whipped past me, stinging my cheeks and sending a chill down my spine. I blinked, heart pounding, the silence around me somehow louder now. I took a step forward—

—but before I could move another inch, a heavy hand clamped over my mouth.

I couldn’t scream.

My head jerked back. My vision blurred. A dizzy wave crashed over me. My knees gave out.

Then—black.

I woke to cold.

It wrapped around me like a second skin, sinking into my bones. My body ached, stiff and trembling. The air was damp and foul, tasting of rust and mold.

The darkness was suffocating. My arms, stretched above me, burned where the chains bit into my wrists. I couldn’t move. Blood trickled down my temple, warm against my frozen skin.

I tried to breathe, but every inhale scraped like ice through my lungs. Panic surged.

Who was I?

Why couldn’t I remember?

My mind was a shattered mirror—scattered pieces of a life I couldn’t reach.

Then: a shift.

Light. Thin and weak, seeping through the vent high above me.

Finally.

“Light,” I whispered hoarsely, the word like gravel in my throat. I tilted my head toward it, as if warmth could follow.

Outside, birds chirped—a sound so normal, it cracked something inside me. For a moment, I felt human again. Alive.

But it didn’t last.

Voices.

Muffled. Low. Male.

Boots thudding across the floor above.

Coming closer.

Each step was a countdown.

Could this be the end?

The cellar door creaked.

I froze. My breath locked in my chest.

The boots stopped just beyond the door—then paused.

Silence.

A key scratched into the lock.

Click.

The door opened slightly. A beam of yellow light sliced across the floor. I blinked hard, struggling to adjust to the brightness after the heavy dark.

A figure moved into the doorway.

I strained to focus—vision blurry, blood still dripping slowly into my eyes.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Slow steps.

He walked into the light.

My stomach twisted.

Something in me recoiled—like I’d known him once. But from where?

He said nothing. Just stared down at me with eyes pale as frost. His expression unreadable, his movements calm… too calm.

Then it hit me.

A flash of color. Heat.

Summer.

The smell of chlorine and sunscreen. Laughter under fireworks. Her laugh—soft and familiar. A girl with a crooked grin and a scraped knee.

My best friend.

And behind her, standing with his hand on her shoulder—

Him.

My body went numb.

“I… I know you,” I said, voice shaking.

He tilted his head slightly. His lip curled at the corner—but it wasn’t a smile. It was smug. Empty.

“Do you?” he said, almost tenderly. “Because I remember you. You were always around. Especially that summer.”

“What…” I coughed, throat dry. “What’s your name?”

He stepped forward, and the light caught his face. The pale eyes. The rigid jawline. Something hard lived behind that face.

“Her uncle,” he said. “I was her family. And you were always there.”

A tremor passed through me.

My vision tilted. The room spun.

July 19.

The memory slammed into me—brief but brutal.

Her pale face. Her lips parted. Her eyes wide with fear. A flash of red on white. His hand around her wrist. The scream that never came.

Blood.

So much blood.

“You killed her,” I said, the words escaping in a strangled whisper.

His face didn’t change.

“She asked too many questions,” he said simply. “Curious minds are dangerous things.”

Tears blurred my sight. “Why me? Why bring me here?”

“Because she trusted you,” he said. “Told you things. Maybe too much. And if that memory of yours ever clears up…”

He trailed off, staring at me with quiet menace.

“I can’t let that happen.”

He turned to go.

“But you don’t remember everything,” he added. “Not yet.”

The door slammed shut.

Darkness again.

My heart pounded like a drum in my chest.

Bits and pieces swirled in my head—her warnings, her fear, her whispering to me in the dark. Files in his office. Something about July. A box she was never supposed to open.

I had forgotten it all.

And now—because of me—she was dead.

But I could still fix this.

I had to.

I twisted my wrists, ignoring the pain. The chains dug into my skin, metal scraping raw flesh. I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t.

Minutes—or hours—passed.

Then—

Snap.

The chain broke loose.

I fell forward onto the cold, wet floor, gasping. My muscles screamed in protest, but I didn’t care.

I crawled to the door, stumbling over debris. There was a rusted grate above—a vent. Just wide enough.

I stacked the crates. I climbed.

My hands slipped once, twice, but I didn’t let go.

Finally—I pulled myself through.

Outside, the world had changed.

Snow fell gently, blanketing everything in white silence. My breath rose in clouds. The wind howled low, like a warning.

Behind me, the house sat like a grave. I turned.

And ran.

Branches whipped my face. The woods were thick, gnarled trees looming like sentinels. Every step was louder than it should be. My lungs burned, and my feet slid in the snow.

Then—behind me—

The slam of a door.

His voice.

He was coming.

I pushed harder.

She left something. I know she did. A journal. A message. Something hidden. Something he didn’t find.

And if I could reach it—if I could remember just a little more—maybe I could prove what he did. Maybe I could stop him.

But first…

I had to survive the night.