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but still warm.

Sarah Morgan notices her son Tommy's strange new habit of talking to his reflection. At first, she thinks it's childhood imagination, until one night she catches a glimpse of his mirror-self moving independently. The reflection smiles at her, but Tommy isn't smiling.

The basement door was locked from inside. No signs of forced entry. Security cameras showed nothing unusual. Then they found it. Hidden behind old paint cans. A tunnel. Fresh dirt. Someone had been planning this for months. The question wasn't how they got in, but why.

A woman drives home late at night, noticing headlights following her every turn. Pulling into her garage, she hurries inside, double-checking the locks. The doorbell rings. Through the peephole, she sees her own car's headlights still on. She never turned them off.

Sarah watched him from across the café, her training kicking in automatically. His movements were too precise, too measured for a casual customer. She noticed the slight bulge under his jacket – amateur mistake. Her mind calculated three possible escape routes while her fingers casually wrapped around her coffee cup.

I remember my trek through Cedar Valley last spring, before everything changed. The morning fog wrapped around the trees like ghostly fingers, and my compass seemed to spin without purpose. Something about that place felt wrong, fundamentally wrong, from the moment I stepped onto the trail.

e temporal lobe, taking both her gift and her life.

Walking into our anniversary dinner, I noticed his phone lighting up with messages from my best friend. Calmly, I raised my glass, smiled sweetly, and revealed the private investigator's photos I'd received that morning. His face turned ghostly white.