I was driving one night in a really foul mood and speeding. Anyway this car gets behind me and for some reason I can just tell it wasn’t a cop. Something just didn’t sit right with me. As I’m getting out of my car, the truck rolls its windows down. And what I saw still haunts me to this day. It was a man with a face like it had been through fire and back—scarred, uneven, eyes like burnt-out coals.
But that wasn’t what froze me. It was that he said my full name—first, middle, and last—like he was reading it off my soul.
“Liyah Samara Belen. You finally stopped.”
My heart dropped. I didn’t recognize him. Not even a little.
“Do I… do I know you?” I asked, trying to steady my voice.
The man tilted his head, then gave a strange, almost pitiful smile. “You knew my brother.”
I swallowed hard. “Who’s your brother?”…
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