She couldn't sit with the fear anymore. It had taken root inside her, growing like a parasite. That pendant wasn't just a memory - it was a warning. A cry for help she didn't hear in time.
Erica had to know the truth.
So she went to his house.
It was eerily quiet. Max wasn't home. She knew his schedule, and today he was out. She slipped in like a ghost, heart in her throat, every creak of the floor screaming what are you doing?
She searched everything. Drawers, closets, shelves. Most of it was just... normal. Too normal.
Until she opened an old wooden box buried under loose papers in his study.
A photo.
One she wished she'd never seen.
Max - standing with a group of boys. And among them was him - the man who had once been a suspect in Erica's case. There were others, too. Faces she didn't recognize, but all of them wore the same smug, sinister expression. The kind of smile that made your skin crawl.
Her knees weakened.
The connection was too much to be coincidence.
She kept searching, frantic now, ripping through his house like a woman possessed - until she noticed it. A locked door she had never seen before, half-hidden behind coats in the hallway.
A basement.
Why does Max have a basement?
A key was on the floor nearby. As if someone forgot. Or wanted it to be found.
She unlocked it.
And descended.
The moment she stepped down, the smell hit her. Damp. Dust. Decay.
And secrets.
The walls were lined with boxes. Shelves. A desk. But it was what was pinned to the far wall that made her stop breathing.
Photos.
So many photos.
Of girls.
Crying. Bound. Violated.
It was a shrine of horror.
And then - she saw him. The boy from the photo. The one who had Ishan killed. The others too.
And Max.
Max. In some of the photos.
Smiling.
Holding a camera.
Doing it.
She choked back a scream. Her own photo was there. From the night she could barely remember. Her body limp. Her eyes blank.
Her legs moved on their own.
She ran.
She ran like her soul was on fire.
Out of the basement. Out of the house. Through the streets, heart pounding, world spinning.
It was him. It was always him.
As she fumbled with her front door, breath shallow and fast-
"Erica."
She froze.
Max stood there, a soft smile on his face. "I'm glad you came. I was worried when you ran out on our date."
And then she saw it.
A deep, red scratch across his hand.
Exactly where she had clawed her attacker.
Her blood ran cold.
He tilted his head, that charming voice dripping venom now. "You look... scared. Everything okay?"
She didn't answer.
She turned.
And ran.
She didn't look back.
Not until she was locked in her room, sobbing so violently her body shook. The truth was worse than anything she had feared.
This wasn't just pain.
It was betrayal.
It was terror.
And the nightmare... was far from over.