Page 63 of Retaliation

Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of the open door. She was meticulous about locking up, especially after growing up in a neighborhood where safety was always a concern. A sense of dread washed over her as she hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to tread carefully.

Summoning her courage, she cautiously pushed the door wider and peered into the darkness. She reached

for her phone with trembling hands, using its feeble light to illuminate the shadowy interior.

Stepping over the threshold, she closed the door behind her with a soft click, her senses on high alert for any signs of intrusion. Every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet sounded deafening in the silence, amplifying her anxiety.

With a deep breath, she flicked on the lights, casting a warm glow that chased away the shadows and revealed the familiar surroundings of her home. Yet, despite the reassurance of the light, a looming sense of unease lingered in the air, whispering of threats lurking in the darkness.

Chaos greeted her as she ventured further into her apartment. Every inch bore marks of intrusion, with furniture overturned and her belongings scattered everywhere. Determination hardened her expression as she crept toward the kitchen, her senses alert for any sign of danger.

With a quick, fluid motion, she retrieved a knife from a drawer, holding it tightly in her hand as she moved toward her bedroom. Every sound, every movement, even her heartbeat echoed eerily in the silence, sending tiny spiders crawling down her spine. Despite the unease gnawing at her, she moved forward, refusing to give in to the fear clasping its iron first around her throat.

Reaching the bedroom door, she paused, straining her ears for any hint of movement. The apartment remained uncannily silent, heightening her sense of unease.

After a moment’s deliberation, she reached her arm into the dark room and switched on the light as she entered.

The scene that greeted her was one of utter devastation. Her room had been destroyed, her belongings strewn about, and her mattress was on the floor. Anger took over from panic as she realized that the intruder had targeted her personal space, leaving no corner untouched in their search.

After checking the bathroom, she turned to lock the front door. Only then did she put the knife back in the kitchen drawer.

Focusing on checking to see if any of her belongings had been taken, she started placing things where they belonged.

Standing in the chaos of her living room, surveying the aftermath of the break-in, she choked on the anger threatening to take over.

Furniture lay overturned, cushions ripped open, and her belongings scattered across the floor. She began to pick up the pieces. As she worked, the voices in her head grew louder, a cacophony of anger and frustration.

She straightened the overturned couch, grunting as she pushed it back into place. Picking up the coffee table, she placed it upright—its legs wobbling.

Slowly but surely, she began to piece together her

living room, placing her belongings back where they belonged.

Thank fuck her computer was still in its place on the desk and seemingly unharmed. Confused, she wondered why the intruder didn’t take it. It was the most expensive thing in her apartment.

She turned to her drafting table, and her heart sank. Drawings and sketchbooks lay scattered over the smooth surface, a chaotic mess that mirrored the turmoil in her mind.

She began to collect the scattered papers, her fingers tracing the familiar lines of her artwork. But as she sifted through the chaos, a chilling realization washed over her. One drawing was missing—the one of Scorpion’s eyes.

Panic clawed at her chest as the puzzle pieces fell into place. That’s why his eyes seemed so hauntingly familiar. She had seen them before. She had seen them just before they glossed over. They were the same as his brother’s.

The iron fist on her throat squeezed, and tears threatened to spill. Blinking them back, she rushed to her bedroom. If the drawing was missing, then…

She didn’t want to even think of it. Rummaging through every piece of clothing in her room, she sifted through every last one, but Scorpion’s white t-shirt was gone. So was the note he had left her.

For the longest moment, she stood there in the chaos, shaking her head. It was Scorpion. Scorpion had broken into her apartment and destroyed the whole place.

Staring blankly in front of her, it took her a while to notice the piece of paper taped at an angle on the mirror across the room.

Drawing closer, her eyes fixed on the torn page, recognizing it as a scene from Shakespeare’s Hamlet, the torn book on her nightstand. Scribbled across the text were four words that sent a chill to her core:

I’m coming for you.

A shiver raced down her spine. It had to be Scorpion. Her heart pounded with fear and anger.

After hours of cleaning, exhaustion weighed heavily on her as she completed her task in the early morning hours. Grabbing a blanket, she decided to rather sleep on the couch—the intrusion that focused on her personal space left the hairs on her body standing with a chilly unease.

Despite being emotionally and physically drained, she couldn’t fall asleep, her senses on high alert, haunted by the lingering feeling of being watched.

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