Chris opened her eyes slowly, her vision blurry, her head pounding like someone had slammed a door inside her skull. At first, she thought she was still in the woods. She expected to see trees, dirt, darkness.
Instead… she saw a ceiling she had never seen before.
A soft yellow light glowed above her. The room smelled faintly of warm soap and old wood. She blinked, confused, pushing herself up. That's when she realized something even stranger—
She wasn't wearing her party clothes anymore.
Her sparkly top and denim skirt were gone.
Instead, she wore an oversized black T-shirt and gray pajamas that clearly weren't hers. Her heartbeat spiked immediately. She grabbed the blanket and looked around rapidly.
Her original clothes were folded neatly on a small sofa in the corner.
"W-what the…" Chris whispered, swallowing nervously.
The room was clean, quiet, almost too perfect — white curtains, wooden floor, a small table with a pot of fake flowers. Everything felt strange. Too unfamiliar.
She sucked in a breath and slowly got out of bed. Her legs were still shaky from the night before, but she forced herself to stand. She tiptoed to the sofa and grabbed her clothes.
Her shoes were right under it.
Her throat tightened.
Someone changed me.
Someone brought me here.
Someone was in this room.
She looked toward the door. Half open. A soft light from the hallway slipped inside.
Chris stepped out quietly. She clutched her clothes against her chest, moving slowly, listening for any sound. The hallway stretched ahead, with two doors on the right, one on the left, and stairs at the end.
She peeked into the first room.
Empty.
She peeked into the second.
Also empty.
She stepped toward the third door — a slightly open bathroom door — and the moment she peeked through, she froze completely.
Inside was a guy.
Tall, lean, water dripping down his back. He was showering, completely unaware of her presence. His hair was messy and dark, sticking to his neck. A towel hung on the glass partition, blocking the view of his face entirely.
Chris's breath caught in her throat.
That's the guy who brought me here…?
She leaned a little to see his face properly, but her hand accidentally knocked over a small clay pot placed on the shelf outside the bathroom.
CRACK.
The pot shattered.
Chris jumped at the sound and covered her mouth. The guy inside stopped moving. The water kept running, but his shadow shifted—he knew someone was there.
"No, no, no—" Chris whispered, panicking.
She clutched her clothes tight and hurried away from the bathroom.
Her heartbeat was wild now.
She reached the stairs and began to descend them as quietly as she could. Every wooden step creaked, making her flinch. Halfway down, she heard it—
Footsteps.
Heavy, calm footsteps.
Coming toward her from the floor above.
She felt the vibration in the wood.
She felt his presence growing closer.
Then his voice echoed down the staircase—
"Chris… is it you?"
She froze.
Her breath stopped.
Her hand tightened on the railing.
He sounded calm. Too calm. His tone wasn't angry or threatening — but that somehow made it even scarier. Chris didn't answer. She slowly stepped down one more stair.
The footsteps continued.
He was coming.
Chris's chest tightened as she reached the bottom. She looked around the living room — modern, tidy, with tall windows. A kitchen was to her left. A back door was on her right.
She didn't think.
She ran toward the back door.
Just as she reached for the handle—
The guy stepped onto the last stair behind her.
Chris opened the door slightly.
He moved to the other side of the living room.
And the moment he turned, she knew she had only one chance.
She yanked the door open and tried to sprint out—
"Don't!" the guy shouted sharply.
Chris ignored him.
But before she could escape completely, a strong arm wrapped around her waist from behind.
"No—! Let go!!" she screamed, kicking.
He held her firmly but not painfully.
"Chris, stop! You're going to hurt yourself!"
She twisted, trying to elbow him.
"Let GO OF ME!"
She managed to see his face now — his wet hair dripping, eyes sharp, worried, and strangely familiar. But she didn't care. She was terrified.
She stomped her foot against his shin and broke free. She ran again.
He grabbed her wrist, pulling her back.
"Chris, please stop—"
"DON'T TOUCH ME!"
They struggled until she finally yanked her hand away and stumbled backward. Her heart raced. Her breathing shook.
He looked at her with frustration and… concern?
But Chris didn't stay. She pushed past him and ran out of the house with all the strength she had left.
LILY – THAT SAME MORNING
Lily had fallen asleep on Henry's couch the previous night, exhausted from crying and searching. She didn't even remember when she drifted off.
But at sunrise, her phone buzzed loudly on the coffee table, waking her up instantly.
She rubbed her eyes and grabbed it without checking the number.
"H-Hello…?"
"Lily…"
It was Chris.
Lily shot up, fully awake.
"CHRIS?! Where the hell are you?! Are you OK?!"
Chris's voice trembled. "Something… happened. I woke up in a house I don't know. Someone brought me. I'm—I'm leaving. I'm running home. I'll tell you everything—"
Lily didn't even let her finish.
"I'm coming to you right now!"
She hung up, grabbed her jacket, and turned toward Henry, who was still asleep on the other couch. His face was soft, peaceful, clueless about everything that had happened.
Lily stared at him for a second — regret filling her eyes — because she knew she couldn't explain this to him.
Not yet.
"I'm sorry…" she whispered.
Then she hurried out of Henry's house and ran.
Ran as fast as she could.
To find Chris.
Before anything else could happen to her.