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Leo wanted to scream, but his throat had closed. He wanted to run, but his legs had turned to ice.

But sometimes, when he’s alone in a dark room—when the TV goes to static between channels, or a closet door drifts open in a draft—he hears it. Not a voice. Not a whisper.

Leo sat up slowly. His face ached. He touched his cheek—no bruises, no cuts. Just the phantom memory of cold fingers.