The first thing Nora Hale noticed was the blood. It was beneath her fingernails, dark and dry, gathered in thin lines around the edges. For several seconds, she simply stared at her hands, trying to understand what she was seeing. Then she noticed the scratches. Three long marks ran down her left forearm. Two more crossed her right shoulder, disappearing beneath the strap of her nightshirt. They were red, angry-looking, and deep enough to sting when she touched them. She sat upright in bed. Her bedroom was quiet. The curtains were half open, allowing a pale strip of morning sunlight to fall across the floor. Her bedside clock read 6:17 a.m. She blinked at it. She didn't remember going to bed. In fact, she didn't remember most of the previous night. A familiar pressure settled behind her eyes. Not again. Nora pushed the covers away and examined her feet. There was dried mud between her toes and along the soles, as though she'd walked through wet ground without shoes. A small leaf clung to her ankle. She pulled it away. Her apartment was on the third floor of a quiet residential building in Blackwood. There was no garden outside her bedroom window, no flower bed she could have stepped into, and certainly no reason for her feet to be covered in mud. She looked toward the window. It was closed. The lock was still in place. "Okay," she whispered. "Think." She remembered leaving St. Vincent's Medical Center shortly after midnight. She remembered the exhaustion in her legs after a twelve-hour shift, the rain tapping against her windscreen, and the red traffic light near the old bakery. She remembered arriving home. She thought she remembered locking the door. After that, everything disappeared. Nora rubbed her forehead. She was a nurse. She understood fatigue, stress, sleep deprivation, and the strange things the human brain could do when pushed too far. She had worked enough night shifts to know that exhaustion could make time feel unreliable. But exhaustion didn't explain the blood. She climbed out of bed and hurried to the bathroom. Under the bright mirror lights, the scratches looked worse. She turned her arm, examining each mark carefully. They weren't neat cuts. They looked as though something sharp had dragged across her skin. She ran water over them. The first touch made her flinch. "Damn it." She opened the medicine cabinet, found antiseptic and cotton wool, and cleaned the wounds. The blood beneath her nails took longer to remove. She scrubbed until her fingertips turned pink. When she finished, she stood staring at herself. Her dark hair was tangled around her shoulders. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and her face looked paler than usual. She looked like someone who hadn't slept in days. But there was something else. For one strange moment, she thought her eyes looked different. Not their usual shade, but something brighter, almost golden beneath the bathroom light. She leaned closer. The effect disappeared. Nora shut her eyes. "I'm tired," she told her reflection. It was the explanation she'd been using for months. Stress. Exhaustion. Sleepwalking. Nothing worth worrying about. Except she was beginning to worry. In the kitchen, Nora made coffee strong enough to wake the dead. She stood by the counter, waiting for the machine to finish, while her mind returned to the missing hours. This wasn't the first time. There had been other mornings when she'd woken with strange marks on her body. Once, she'd found mud on the carpet beside her front door. Another time, she'd discovered a torn sleeve on a blouse she distinctly remembered hanging in her wardrobe. Two weeks earlier, she'd woken with a painful ache in both legs and a faint smell of wet leaves on her pillow. She had blamed everything on her work. Hospitals were exhausting. People came in frightened, injured, and sometimes dying. Nurses didn't always get enough rest. She knew that better than anyone. But the missing nights had started happening even when she wasn't working. And they always seemed to follow the same pattern. She would go to sleep. Then hours would vanish. Nora lifted her coffee and took a sip. Her phone lay on the kitchen counter. She picked it up and checked her messages. There was one from Ben, sent the previous evening. Ben: Don't forget to eat something after your shift. And get some sleep, please. She smiled faintly. Ben Carver had always worried about her. Sometimes more than she thought necessary. She typed a reply. Nora: I survived another shift. Barely. Coffee is currently keeping me alive. His response came a minute later. Ben: Coffee isn't food. Nora: It has water in it. Ben: That's not how nutrition works. She laughed quietly. For a moment, the strange morning felt less frightening. Ben had a way of making ordinary things feel manageable. He was a detective with a habit of noticing details other people overlooked, which was both one of the things she loved about him and one of the reasons she sometimes avoided telling him things. He noticed too much. Especially when it came to her. Her phone vibrated again. Ben: Are you awake? Nora: Unfortunately. Ben: Coffee? She glanced at the clock. 7:21 a.m. She should have been sleeping, but the thought of sitting alone in her apartment with the blood and unanswered questions made her uncomfortable. Nora: Only if you're buying. Ben: Obviously. Nora: That's why I love you. His reply appeared almost immediately. Ben: Love you too, Nora. She read it twice before putting the phone down. Then she looked at the scratches on her arm. Her smile faded. At 7:56 a.m., a familiar silver SUV pulled up outside her building. Nora watched from the window as Ben stepped out. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with dark hair that never seemed to stay perfectly in place. He wore a charcoal shirt beneath a dark jacket, and his expression was serious even when he wasn't working. She grabbed her handbag, checked the front door lock, and headed downstairs. Ben was waiting beside his vehicle. "Morning." "Morning." He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "You look tired." "Good morning to you too." "I'm serious." "And I'm beautiful. We all have our burdens." A small smile tugged at his mouth. "Get in, beautiful." She climbed into the passenger seat. The inside of his SUV smelled of coffee, cedarwood, and the clean soap he always used. It was a familiar scent, comforting enough to make her relax slightly. Ben started the engine. "Did you sleep?" "Some." "How much is some?" "Enough." He glanced at her. "Nora." "Ben." He shook his head, smiling faintly. "Fine. Keep your secrets." She looked out of the window. The streets of Blackwood were slowly filling with morning traffic. Shopkeepers lifted their shutters, pedestrians hurried along the pavements, and the smell of freshly baked bread drifted from a small bakery near the town centre. Blackwood was the kind of town people moved to when they wanted a quiet life. Its narrow streets were lined with old Victorian houses, maple trees, and little shops that had been open for generations. It was beautiful in the morning. But beyond the houses and the last row of shops stood Blackwood Forest. The woodland stretched across the edge of town, thick with ancient trees and tangled undergrowth. Its paths were popular with hikers during daylight, but few people ventured far inside. Children were warned not to enter after sunset. Hunters sometimes disappeared. Strange howling sounds were reported from time to time, although most residents dismissed them as foxes or stray dogs. Nora had never believed the stories. At least, she hadn't before. "You're quiet," Ben said. "I'm enjoying the scenery." "You've lived here for years. What scenery?" "Maybe I've developed a sudden appreciation for trees." He laughed. "That's new." They pulled up outside their favourite café, a little place called The Morning Bell. It sat between a bookshop and an old florist, with wide windows and wooden tables that were always occupied by the same collection of familiar faces. Inside, the smell of roasted coffee beans and warm pastries filled the air. Ben ordered his usual black coffee. Nora chose a latte and a croissant, mostly because he gave her a disapproving look when she tried to order only coffee. They found a table near the window. For a while, they talked about ordinary things. A difficult patient Nora had treated during her shift. A neighbour who had been complaining about the building's plumbing. Ben's latest attempt to repair a loose kitchen cabinet. Nora laughed more than she had expected to. It was easy with him. That was the dangerous thing about loving someone who knew you so well. Even when you wanted to hide, some part of you kept reaching for them. Ben took a sip of coffee. Then his expression changed slightly. "What?" Nora asked. "Nothing." "You're looking at me." "Am I not allowed?" "You're allowed. You're just doing it suspiciously." He placed his cup down. "You've been different lately." Nora's fingers tightened around her coffee cup. She looked at him, waiting for him to explain. And suddenly, the warmth of the café didn't feel quite so comforting.

"You've been different lately." Ben's words settled between us, heavier than the coffee cup in my hands. I stared at the dark liquid, watching the reflection of the café lights tremble across its surface. Around us, Blackwood carried on as if the world were perfectly ordinary. A woman laughed near the counter. Someone dragged a chair across the wooden floor. Outside, a delivery truck rumbled past, scattering a handful of yellow leaves along the pavement. Ordinary things. I wished I could remember what ordinary felt like. "Different how?" I asked. Ben leaned back in his chair. His eyes stayed on me, steady and uncomfortable in the way they always were when he knew I was hiding something. "You've been distracted. You're tired all the time. You cancel plans, then pretend you never made them. Last week, you called me at three in the morning and couldn't remember why." I frowned. "I called you?" "Yes." "What did I say?" "You asked if I could hear the trees." A chill crept beneath my skin. I tried to laugh. "That sounds ridiculous." "It wasn't funny at the time." His voice was gentle, but there was something beneath it. Concern, perhaps. Or suspicion. "What did you tell me?" I asked. "That I could hear you just fine." "And?" "And then you started crying." I looked away. I had no memory of that conversation. No memory of calling him, crying, or asking about trees. The only thing I remembered from last week was falling asleep on my sofa after a double shift and waking up with a headache. "Maybe I was exhausted," I said. "Maybe." He didn't sound convinced. Ben reached across the table, placing his hand over mine. His palm was warm. Familiar. For a moment, I wanted to tell him everything: the missing hours, the blood beneath my nails, the strange scratches, and the growing fear that something was happening to me while I slept. But what would I say? That I sometimes woke up feeling as if I had run for miles? That my clothes occasionally smelled of wet earth and leaves? That twice this month, I'd found mud on my bedroom floor even though I never remembered going outside? He was a detective. His job was to find answers. Mine, apparently, was to keep giving him reasons to look. "I'm fine, Ben." He squeezed my fingers. "You always say that." "Because I am." "Nora." I met his eyes. "I'm not asking you to tell me everything," he said. "I'm asking you not to shut me out." The sincerity in his voice hurt more than an accusation would have. "I don't mean to." "I know." For a few seconds, neither of us spoke. Then his phone vibrated against the table. Ben glanced at the screen, and his expression changed. It was subtle, but I noticed. The warmth disappeared from his eyes. His jaw tightened as he read the message. "Work?" I asked. He turned the phone face down. "Something came up." "You have to go?" "I'm afraid so." I nodded, trying not to show my disappointment. We had barely spent twenty minutes together. "Is everything okay?" He hesitated. "There's been an incident near the forest." The word forest made my stomach tighten. "What kind of incident?" "They found someone." I waited for him to explain, but he didn't. "Someone dead?" Ben looked at me. "Yes." The café suddenly seemed too warm. I loosened the collar of my sweater. "Who?" "We don't know yet. The body was discovered early this morning by a man walking his dog. The scene is still being processed." "What happened to them?" "I can't discuss the details." "Ben, I'm a nurse. You can tell me if someone was attacked." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you asking?" "Because you just told me someone died." "It's an active investigation, Nora." I leaned back. "Right. Sorry. I forgot I'm not allowed to ask questions." "That isn't what I said." "But it's what you meant." He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. "I'm not trying to keep things from you. I just don't want to bring work into every part of our lives." I looked down at my hands. There was a faint red mark near my thumb. I rubbed it with the edge of my napkin, but it didn't disappear. "Was it an animal attack?" I asked quietly. Ben went still. "Why would you ask that?" "I don't know. The forest, the body... It could have been an animal." "That's one possibility." His answer was careful. Too careful. "Were there bite marks?" "Nora." "I'm just asking." "And I'm telling you that I can't discuss it." I pulled my hand away from his. "Fine." He watched me for a moment before standing. "I'll call you later." "Okay." He placed a few notes beside his cup and reached for his jacket. Before leaving, he bent down and kissed my forehead. "Please get some rest." "I will." "And if you remember anything about last night, anything at all, call me." My heart gave a sudden, painful thud. "Why would I remember something about last night?" Ben studied my face. "Because you look frightened every time someone mentions the forest." I couldn't answer. He straightened, gave me one last worried look, and walked out. Through the café window, I watched him cross the pavement and climb into his silver SUV. He sat behind the steering wheel for several seconds, speaking into his phone before driving away. I remained at the table long after his car disappeared. Someone had been found dead in the woods. And Ben had looked at me as though he expected me to know why. ⸻ By the time I returned home, the morning had grown cloudy. My apartment was quiet, except for the ticking wall clock and the low hum of the refrigerator. I dropped my keys into the ceramic bowl beside the door and kicked off my shoes. I should have slept. Instead, I went straight to the bathroom. The scratches on my arm had begun to sting. Under the bright light, they looked worse than they had that morning. Three narrow lines ran from my wrist toward my elbow, their edges red and slightly swollen. I turned my arm, examining them from different angles. They were too deep to be ordinary scratches. I opened the medicine cabinet and reached for the antiseptic. As I cleaned the wounds, a sharp smell filled the small room. Something beneath it caught my attention. A faint scent of damp soil. I stopped. It was the same smell I'd noticed on my clothes when I woke up. I leaned closer to my arm and sniffed. Nothing. Perhaps I was imagining it. I finished cleaning the scratches and wrapped a bandage around them. Then I washed my hands twice, changed into an oversized T-shirt, and went to the bedroom. My phone buzzed on the bedside table. A message from Ben. Ben: I know you don't like worrying, but please be careful today. Stay away from the forest. I read it once. Then again. Me: Why would I go near the forest? His reply came almost immediately. Ben: Just promise me. I stared at the screen. Me: I promise. I put the phone down. It was a promise I had no intention of breaking. At least, that was what I believed. ⸻ Sleep came slowly. I lay beneath the covers, listening to the wind move against the windows. Every few minutes, a branch scraped the glass with a soft, dragging sound. I closed my eyes. For a while, I drifted between dreams and wakefulness. Then I heard it. A howl. It came from somewhere beyond the houses, deep in the distance. It rose into the air and stretched across the afternoon like a cry of pain. I sat up. Blackwood Forest wasn't far from my apartment. On a clear day, I could see the tops of its trees from the kitchen window. Another howl followed. This one sounded closer. My pulse quickened. I got out of bed and walked to the window. The sky was grey, and the trees in the distance swayed beneath the wind. There was nothing unusual outside. No movement. No animal. No person. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching me. I stepped away from the glass. My phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Ben. It was an unknown number. UNKNOWN: You need to stop pretending you don't know what happens to you. I stared at the message. A second text appeared. UNKNOWN: The next full moon is closer than you think. My mouth went dry. I typed a reply, then deleted it. Typed another, then deleted that too. Finally, I sent: ME: Who is this? The message showed as delivered. No response came. I called the number. It rang once before going straight to voicemail. I tried again. The same result. My fingers began to tremble. I returned to the first message, reading it until the words blurred. Someone knew. Someone knew about the nights I couldn't remember. And whoever it was had been watching me. A sudden noise came from the hallway. A soft scrape. I froze. It sounded like something being dragged slowly across the floor outside my apartment door. I held my breath. Then came three knocks. Not loud. Not hurried. Three deliberate taps. I moved toward the door, every instinct telling me not to open it. "Who's there?" I called. Silence. I looked through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I stepped back. My phone vibrated in my hand. Another message. UNKNOWN: Don't open the door, Nora. My blood turned cold. I stared at the words, then slowly lifted my eyes toward the door. Someone was outside. Someone who knew my name. And whoever it was had just warned me not to let them in.

For several seconds, I couldn't move. The message glowed on my phone. UNKNOWN: Don't open the door, Nora. I stared at it, my heartbeat pounding so loudly that I could barely hear anything else. Someone was outside my apartment. Someone knew my name. And somehow, they knew I had received their warning. I backed away from the door, gripping my phone with both hands. My first instinct was to call Ben, but before I could unlock his contact, another knock sounded. Three taps. Slow. Deliberate. "Who's there?" I called again. Nothing. I looked through the peephole. The hallway remained empty. My apartment was on the third floor. The building's security camera covered the entrance downstairs, but there was no camera outside my door. Anyone could stand in the narrow corner beside the staircase and remain invisible. I knew that because I'd complained about it to the landlord twice. A soft scratching sound came from the other side. My stomach tightened. It wasn't the sound of someone knocking anymore. It sounded like fingernails dragging down the wood. I stumbled backward. My phone slipped slightly in my sweaty palm, and I almost dropped it. I quickly opened Ben's contact and pressed call. He answered after two rings. "Nora?" "Ben." Something in my voice made him immediately alert. "What's wrong?" "Someone's outside my door." "Who?" "I don't know. I can't see anyone." "Have you opened it?" "No!" "Good. Keep it locked. I'm coming." I heard the sound of a car door closing on his end. "Ben, wait. I think someone is watching me." "Listen to me. Move away from the door. Go somewhere you can lock yourself in." I glanced toward the bedroom. "I'm in the living room." "Then go to your bedroom. Take your phone. Don't hang up." I obeyed, walking as quietly as possible. Halfway down the hallway, I heard something hit my front door. Hard. I gasped. "Nora?" "Someone just hit the door." "Stay away from it." Another impact followed. The door shook in its frame. I hurried into the bedroom and locked it, even though I knew the flimsy lock wouldn't stop anyone determined to get inside. "Ben, please hurry." "I'm on my way." For a moment, there was only the sound of my breathing and the faint noise of traffic through the phone. Then Ben spoke again. "Nora, I need you to tell me something." "What?" "Did you receive a message from an unknown number?" I stopped breathing. "How did you know?" He didn't answer immediately. "Read it to me." I looked at the screen. The first message was still there. You need to stop pretending you don't know what happens to you. Then the second. The next full moon is closer than you think. And finally: Don't open the door, Nora. I read each one aloud. Ben swore under his breath. "What?" I asked. "Do you know who sent them?" "No." "Then why did you ask?" "Because I received something similar." My stomach dropped. "From the same number?" "No. An anonymous message came to the department this morning. It mentioned the body in the woods." "What did it say?" He hesitated. "Ben?" "It said the person in the woods wasn't the first." A cold sensation spread through my chest. "What does that mean?" "I don't know yet." A loud crash came from somewhere outside my bedroom. I cried out and nearly dropped the phone. "Nora!" "Someone's inside!" "Stay in the room. I'm almost there." I heard footsteps. Not hurried footsteps. Slow ones. They moved along the hallway, stopping just outside my bedroom door. My hand covered my mouth. The handle turned. Once. Twice. Then stopped. "Ben," I whispered. "I'm here." The footsteps remained outside. I stared at the handle, waiting for it to move again. Instead, a voice spoke from the other side. "Nora?" It was a man's voice. Low. Calm. I didn't recognize it. "Open the door." My blood turned cold. "Who are you?" I whispered. The man gave a quiet laugh. "You really don't remember me?" The handle moved again. I backed away until my legs hit the edge of the bed. "Ben, there's someone in my apartment." "I know. I'm downstairs." A loud pounding sounded from the front door. Then another voice shouted. "Police! Open up!" The footsteps outside my bedroom stopped. For one terrible moment, the entire apartment went silent. Then I heard the front door slam open. Several people shouted at once. Footsteps rushed through the living room. "Clear!" "Bedroom!" I unlocked my door with shaking hands and opened it. Ben stood at the end of the hallway, his service weapon lowered but ready. Two uniformed officers were behind him. His eyes found mine immediately. "Nora." He crossed the distance between us and pulled me into his arms. I clung to his jacket, trembling. "Are you hurt?" I shook my head. "Did you see him?" "There was someone outside the door. I heard him." Ben looked over my shoulder. "Which way did he go?" "I don't know. I was in here." One of the officers appeared from the living room. "Detective, nobody's inside. We checked the apartment and the balcony." Ben's jaw tightened. "He couldn't have disappeared." The officer glanced toward the front door. "Could have used the stairs before we came up." Ben looked at me again. "Did you hear him leave?" "No." "Did you see his face?" I shook my head. Ben exhaled slowly. "Okay. You're safe now." But I wasn't sure I believed him. The officers searched the apartment for another fifteen minutes. They found no broken windows, no signs of forced entry, and no obvious evidence that anyone had been inside. But there was something on my front door. Three long scratches. Fresh ones. The wood had been scraped deeply enough to expose the pale material underneath the dark varnish. Ben examined them without speaking. "Could someone have done that from the hallway?" I asked. "Possibly." He touched the edge of one mark. "Why?" He glanced at me. "Because the scratches are unusually deep." I folded my arms. "Like animal claws?" He didn't answer. Instead, he took out his phone and photographed the marks. "I'm having the building manager preserve the security footage." "Will that help?" "If the person entered through the main entrance, we'll have a chance of seeing them." I nodded, although my attention remained fixed on the scratches. They looked almost identical to the marks on my arm. Three long lines. Same distance apart. Same strange depth. I pulled my sleeve down. Ben noticed. "Nora?" "I'm tired." "I know." "Can we talk about this later?" He studied me for a moment. Then he nodded. "I'm taking you somewhere else tonight." "Where?" "My place." "Ben, I can't just-" "You can. And you will." I looked at him. His voice was firm, but his expression was worried. "I don't want you staying here alone until we know who's threatening you." I wanted to argue. I wanted to tell him I could take care of myself. But the truth was that I didn't want to be alone either. "Okay," I whispered. He squeezed my shoulder. "Good." Ben drove me to his house shortly before sunset. He lived on the quieter side of Blackwood, in a modest two-storey house with a small garden and a wooden fence. The building was older than mine, but he had renovated most of it himself. I'd spent countless evenings there. I knew the creak of the second stair, the chipped blue mug he refused to throw away, and the way he always left his keys on the kitchen counter. It had once felt like a second home. Tonight, it felt like a hiding place. Ben carried my overnight bag upstairs while I stood in the kitchen, staring out at the garden. The trees beyond his fence were beginning to disappear into the evening shadows. "Are you hungry?" he asked when he returned. "Not really." "You haven't eaten since breakfast." "I'm not hungry." He opened the refrigerator anyway. "I'm making something." I almost smiled. "You always do that." "Do what?" "Decide I'm eating before asking me." "It's one of my better qualities." For a moment, things felt normal again. Then his phone rang. He looked at the screen. The smile disappeared from his face. "Carver." I couldn't hear the person on the other end, but I watched Ben's expression change as he listened. "When?" A pause. "Did the medical examiner confirm it?" Another pause. "Send the report to my email. I'll be there first thing tomorrow." He ended the call. "What happened?" I asked. Ben slipped his phone into his pocket. "They've identified the body." "Who was it?" He hesitated. "A man named Daniel Reeves. Forty-two. He lived on the eastern edge of town." "Did you know him?" "Not personally." I waited. Ben looked toward the window. "The medical examiner found something unusual." "What?" He turned back to me. "The wounds aren't consistent with any ordinary animal attack." My fingers tightened around the edge of the counter. "What does that mean?" "It means someone-or something-did a lot of damage." I swallowed. "Could it have been a person?" "That's what we're trying to establish." He came closer. "Nora, I need you to tell me the truth about something." My heart began to race. "About what?" "Last night. When you left the hospital, did you go anywhere else?" I stared at him. "No." "Are you sure?" "Yes." He held my gaze. "Because your car was seen near Blackwood Forest at 2:14 this morning." The kitchen seemed to tilt. I gripped the counter harder. "That isn't possible." "We checked the registration." "I was home." "Your car was there, Nora." I shook my head. "No. I drove home after work. I went straight to bed." Ben's expression softened, but he didn't look away. "Then help me understand how your car ended up near a crime scene." I couldn't speak. Because suddenly I remembered something. Not a full memory. Just a flash. Wet grass beneath my feet. Cold air against my face. A distant light between the trees. And a voice calling my name. I stepped away from the counter. Ben caught my arm. "Nora?" I looked at him, terrified. "I think..." My voice broke. "I think I went there." Before he could ask another question, my phone buzzed inside my bag. I pulled it out. One new message. The same unknown number. UNKNOWN: He knows where your car was. Soon, he'll know what you are. A second message arrived. UNKNOWN: And when he finds out, he'll be the first person you hurt. I stared at the screen. Outside, beyond Ben's garden fence, something moved between the trees. Then came a low, unmistakable growl.