Page 54 of Cyber Revenge

I can’t meet his eyes.

“Tell me,” he whispers, voice softer now.

My throat tightens. I want to tell him. I do. But saying Patrick’s name feels like summoning a ghost I’m not ready to face.

So I stay quiet.

The next morning, I find a dead bird on my porch.

Its tiny body is twisted, neck snapped, wings splayed out at an unnatural angle.

Laid out gently. Like a fuckinggift.

That’s when I break. I tell Tripeverything.

“Stay inside. Keep the doors locked. Don’t open them for anyone,” Trip’s voice is a growl over the phone that night.

“I’ll take care of it.”

“Trip…”

“Lydia.” His tone sharpens. “Stay inside.”

I don’t argue. I do what he says. For two days.

But the feeling never leaves. The anxiety is suffocating.

I sit curled up on the couch, knees pressed to my chest, eyes locked on the security feed from the app Trip installed on my phone.

Nothing. No movement. But Ifeelit. The air is too still. Too heavy. Like the world is holding its breath.

I text Trip.

I think someone’s here.

No reply.

The silence stretches. I can’t sit still anymore. My chest feels tight.

Check the door. Just once.

I stand slowly, moving like a ghost through my own house. Every creak in the floor sends a jolt of fear through my veins.

When I reach the kitchen, I grab the biggest knife I can find. My fingers tremble around the handle.

Breathe.

“Calm down,” I whisper, voice barely louder than the hum of the fridge.

I turn toward the back door, checking the lock.

Locked.

I take a step back.

Calm down.

The floor creaks behind me.

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