Mara sighed, pressing her fingers against her temples. Her head throbbed. She blinked at the open pages before her, but the words had long since blurred together. With a tired breath, she closed her books and looked up.

The library was empty now. Too empty.

At the far end, the guard hummed softly, his voice a faint echo in the vast silence. He stood by the doors, waiting to lock up. The overhead lights buzzed—one flickering briefly before steadying again.

Mara shivered. She wasn’t sure why.

She shoved her books into her bag and grabbed her leather jacket from the back of her chair, slinging it over her shoulder.

“All done for today?” the guard asked politely.

Mara nodded, offering him a small smile. She had told him countless times how much she appreciated him waiting patiently for her to finish up.

As she passed him, she suddenly froze, her foot hovering midair.

His scent was strong – too strong. A sharp, acrid undertone hit her, something faintly rotten.

Mara turned on her heel, glancing back. The guard seemed normal, still humming to himself as he carefully locked the heavy oak doors.

Shrugging off the unease, she pursed her lips and walked outside.

A cold breeze tugged at a strand of her hair, sending a shiver down her spine.

The night air hit her like a silent warning, curling around her skin with an eerie sharpness. It carried the scent of damp earth and something else—something she couldn’t quite place.

She pulled on her jacket, hugging it tightly around her, but the cold wasn’t just from the wind. It settled deep, whispering an unease she couldn’t ignore.

Instinctively, she turned back toward the library, seeking the familiar comfort of the guard’s presence—only to find emptiness.

The guard seemed to have vanished into thin air.

Mara’s breath hitched. Darkness pressed in around her.

She shoved her hands into her jacket pockets, quickening her pace toward her car.

Her fingers brushed against something.

Crumpled paper.

Her pulse spiked.

She never put things in her jacket pockets—she hated the bulk.

Her breath came faster as she slowly pulled out the paper and unfolded it.

A phone number, scrawled in red ink, stared back at her. It was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t place it. Beneath it, two words were written in sharp, urgent strokes:

CALL URGENTLY.

A shiver crawled up her arms, tiny needles of ice piercing her skin. The handwriting—

It was hers.

She almost tripped, dizziness washing over her.

“I didn’t write this.” She whispered to herself, panicking.

The air thickened, pressing in, suffocating.

With trembling fingers, she fished out her phone and dialed the number.

A distinct ring echoed in her ear before the call connected.

A voice answered.

“Don’t go home.”

Paranoia slithered through her mind, coiling tighter with every second.

Her stomach clenched. Her vision blurred at the edges.

The voice was hers.

And it was terrified.