(Kira’s POV)
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The familiarity was still gnawing persistently at my insides, and I was having trouble keeping it within .
And what made it worse, this wasn’t the general kind of familiarity—the kind that cos from déjà vu or mory. This was more... intentional. The entire structure felt like it was done on purpose. Like soone had built this place from a blueprint ant to trigger sothing. Like it had been designed not just for comfort, but for effect.
Was this the reason it was so familiar? Simply because I had been seeing the sa building over and over since I got into the estate? How the hell did the residents here cope with such a neighborhood?
I took another slow turn, following the instructions to the letter. The road straightened. The screen blinked again.
Destination: 300 feet ahead.
As I neared the house, a cold prickle crept up my spine. The building looked just like the others—perfectly placed, perfectly unremarkable—but sothing about it held my gaze longer than the rest. Maybe it was the way the shadows wrapped around it. Maybe it was the absence of any movent—no flutter of curtains, no car in the driveway.
Or maybe it was just my instincts screaming that this place was wrong. I wasn’t supposed to be there, yet I couldn’t stop myself.
I brought the car to a stop.
My hands lingered on the wheel.
There it was again—that whisper of mory. A scene half-rembered, buried under days of chaos and stress. Sothing in the shape of the windows. The layout of the porch. The symtry of it all. Why was it so hard to figure it out?
But then, the thought hit ! It was familiar because I had seen this house before.
The thought lodged in my chest like a stone. I looked around again, wondering how this was even possible, my eyes scanned every window, every rooftop. The stillness was suffocating. Even Kraven, sowhere behind , was hidden from view now—just another ghost in this sterilized maze of wealth and silence.
I turned the engine off.
And for a mont, I just sat there.
Wondering if I was about to step into sothing that I wouldn’t be able to step out of. I knew my thinking was wrong. There was no way I had been to Lakeview before, I was certain I would have rembered it if I had. Yet, I was certain that I had seen this house before.
The mapping system emitted a sharp, almost impatient beep, its robotic voice confirming: You have arrived at your destination.
I sat there for a second, gripping the steering wheel tightly, as if that cold, plastic ring could anchor against the unease climbing my spine. Outside, the house stood still—plain, suburban, indistinguishable from the ones around it. Yet, the very air about it made the air in my lungs feel heavier.
With a low exhale, I grabbed the grocery bags from the passenger seat and stepped out, the door shutting with a chanical click behind . The lock engaged automatically—clean, efficient.
There was no turning back now, I had already co this far.
"What the hell now?" I muttered under my breath, adjusting the weight of the groceries in my arms. I was here. The exact location Maven had directed to. I’d played delivery girl for soone I didn’t know, for reasons I didn’t understand. Judging by the neighborhood, it had to be for soone elderly.
Which made it all the more bizarre.
Why was I doing this? Why ? Why here?
The wind shifted, and with it ca the faint rustle of trees behind the house. A single leaf drifted down, spiraling in slow motion like sothing out of a dream—or a warning.
Then my phone buzzed in my pocket.
I juggled the bags awkwardly, nearly dropping one as I fished it out. The screen lit up with a ssage.
MOVE!
Just that. All caps. No signature. But I didn’t need one. Not when I knew exactly who sent it.
"Shit..." I hissed, already climbing the front steps. The wood creaked beneath my shoes, sharp and sudden, like it was trying to draw attention. My heart thudded in response. Every step felt louder than the last, echoing in the stillness around .
I reached the front door.
The house was quiet. The kind of silence that hums in your ears when there’s no sound left to process. I lifted a hand, hesitated for a heartbeat, then stabbed the doorbell.
Ding-dong.
Then nothing.
I shifted my weight. My eyes scanned the porch, the eaves, the neighborhood. All still. Too still. The perfectly trimd hedges stood like soldiers, stiff and unmoving. There was no breeze now. No birdsong. Just that hollow pause between what was and what was about to be.
And then—footsteps.
Faint. Shuffling. Uneven.
They drew closer, accompanied by the soft tallic click of locks being disengaged. One. Two. Three. A chain being slid free.
A voice called out, muffled but distinct.
"Who’s there?"
Female. Aged. Just as I’d guessed.
"I’m coming..."
The last lock slid open, and then the door creaked as it slowly swung inward.
I tensed instinctively. Muscles coiled. Adrenaline spiked. My body braced itself for sothing—anything. Fight or flight, I didn’t know what I expected. Was this a trap? A cara? Soone with Maven’s signature smug cruelty waiting on the other side?
But then, my breath caught.
The woman standing before was not a stranger. Not completely.
No—we had never t before. Not in person. But the mont I saw her, my mind fractured with recognition. My mouth fell open in shock and horror, and the bags nearly slipped from my grasp.
I knew her.
Not from reality. From photographs. From stories. From mories that didn’t belong to , but to soone who ant more than I could admit.
She was Lena’s mom.
She looked older than the pictures, more fragile. Her skin was thinner, papery around the eyes. Hair gray and tied back into a loose bun. But the eyes—those soft, sad eyes—they were unmistakable. The sa ones Lena had when she was lost in thought. Or when she was trying to be strong while everything around her fell apart.
It hit like a punch to the chest.
Of all the people. Of all the places.
Now I understood why the house had felt familiar. Why the layout scratched at the edges of my mind. I had seen bits of this house before—cropped fras in background photos Lena once shared with during quieter, better tis. Holiday snapshots. Childhood mories she had let slip when she was feeling safe enough to be vulnerable.
And now I stood here. Holding groceries. Sent by a manipulative bastard who sohow knew this place, knew this woman.
Knew .
"Can I help you?" she asked gently, her voice uncertain but not fearful. She looked at the bags in my hands, confusion softening her features. "Are those for ?"
I couldn’t speak. My throat had gone dry. The questions scread in my head: Why here? Why her? Was she in danger? Was she part of this? Or just another pawn?
"I... uh... I..." I had no idea what to say.
I simply stood there, staring at my girlfriend’s mother like she had just fallen right out of the sky.
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