CHAPTER:- 3

...FEAR AND FEAR BY FIRST MEETING ...

.........

His house finally came into view ———— home,

safety, and warmth. He pushed himself harder, hearing tripping over the last step as he threw open the front door.

His mother turned from the kitchen, smiling gently, "Lucas, sweetheart you're home ea————"

Lucas didn’t stop long enough to hear the rest. He raced past her, past his father on the couch, past his younger sister sprawled with a snack, and straight to his room.

His shaking fingers fumbled the latch until it clicked locked. Only then did he collapse.

But his phone was still recording. With trembling hands, he ended the voice and immediately wished he hadn’t. The thumbnail alone made the bile rise in his throat.

Meanwhile downstairs, his family’s voices come up.

"What happened to him?" his father mumbled, folding back the newspaper he was reading.

"He looked so pale..." his mother said.

"Did you do something, Nina?" his father asked his younger one.

"No! I don’t even know what happened! Maybe he had a fight with his boyfriend again," Nina said, scrolling his feed.

Meanwhile, inside his room, Lucas slid down the door until he was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to his chest.

"What... what was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Was that real? That can’t be real..."

But it was; the image displayed — sharp, merciless — in the darkness behind his eyes: the tall figure, the steady hand, the gun, the blood, and the corpse. And the worst part — the moment the man turned toward him, like a hunter noticing a trembling rabbit.

Lucas's hands shook violently; he grabbed his phone and dialed the only person he thought he could cling to — King.

...RING . RING . RING ....

"The number you are trying to reach is — —"

Lucas's breath fractured, "Please... King... answer... I need you..." he whispered, desperation cracking through every word.

He felt the walls closing in — tight, suffocating, and merciless. He felt alone, small, and hunted.

"What do I do?" he whispered again, pacing, hair clutched in his fists.

...KNOCK! KNOCK!...

"Luca? Are you okay?" his father called, voice thick with worry.

His mother followed, panic creeping into every syllable, "Sweetheart, did something happen? Did you fight with someone? Please open the door. Talk to us."

Lucas pressed a shaking hand over his mouth, trying to stifle the sob that clawed its way up his throat.

He wanted to tell them, he wanted to scream, and he wanted to collapse into their arms and rely on them to protect him, but—

"What if they come for Mom? what if they come for Dad? what if ... what if they hurt Nina? what if I ruin everything??"

His voice broke into silence.

"Luca... Please let us in,"

Lucas squeezed his eyes shut, just one breath and then another, then he finally choked out,

..."I'm fine, just... give me a minute."...

"You don't sound fine," his mother said through the door.

He wasn't; he was anything but fine; he was unraveling. Lucas gaze drifted to the phone — the recording of the murder — like a cursed mirror.

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