The first time, I convinced myself that the shadows were a trick of my mind.
The second time, I woke to find him seated on my bed with my journal in his hands.
The third time I should have run.
Yet his presence brings me peace; the scent of warm leather calms me in ways no prescription ever could.
It’s a harmless arrangement. An addictive routine. An unspoken contract that feels right under the illusion of night.
That is until a motorcycle club moves into the abandoned lot across the road.
And my beautiful dream becomes a living nightmare.
