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The girl I was died in a pool of my best friend's blood. I remember the glint of the blade. The mask carved from death itself. The moment hell reached for my soul. She didn't survive. She couldn't. Elaina took her place. A new name. A trust fund. A blank slate. And trauma festering beneath the surface, waiting for the moment I let my guard down. I thought the danger ended when I escaped. I thought I was safe. But safety is an illusion. Some things don't hunt with noise. They hunt with patience - a waiting game that stretches until fear feels like fate and right and wrong blur into shadow. He isn't searching for inspiration. I escaped. I ruined his design. Now, he's searching for me. The mask is cracking. My tears taste like bitter salt. And the gallery doors only open for those chosen to become art.

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