I’ve always lived a quiet, ordinary life.
School, long shifts at a small diner, and a grandmother who raised me without ever really talking about my past. No parents. No answers. Just a life I learned not to question too deeply.
Until the day she called me.
Her voice wasn’t normal. It was shaken, breathless, like she was forcing herself to stay calm while everything around her was falling apart. And all she said was simple:
Don’t come home.
I didn’t understand it. I still don’t fully understand why I didn’t listen.
But I went anyway.
And after that, everything started to change.
People I didn’t know began showing up in places they shouldn’t have been. Small moments started feeling wrong in ways I couldn’t explain. Like something I couldn’t see was slowly closing in around me.
Then I realized it wasn’t random.
It was aimed.
At me.
And by the time I tried to make sense of it, I was already too deep in something I was never meant to stumble into.
Now I’m caught in a situation I don’t understand, surrounded by silence, half-truths, and people who act like they already know more about me than I know about myself.
And the worst part?
My grandmother wasn’t just scared for nothing.
She knew something was coming.
And somehow… it still found me.
