A Familiar Stranger 

Al pushed through the exit doors, stepping into the cold night air. 

The city lights flickered. The street felt too empty. 

His pulse pounded in his ears. He needed to figure out what happened. 

His hands were clean now. No blood. 

But the memory of it clung to him, sticky and wrong. 

He turned a corner—and nearly crashed into someone. 

A woman. Mid-thirties. Wide-eyed. 

The moment she saw him, she stiffened. 

Al froze. 

And then—she whispered. 

"Ethan?" 

His breath caught. 

No. 

Not again. 

His voice came out hoarse. "Who are you?" 

Her hands shook. Her expression was somewhere between relief and terror. 

"You're back?" she whispered. 

Al's stomach churned. 

"They remember you better than you do." 

His pulse spiked. He backed away. 

The woman reached for him. "Wait—!" 

But Al turned and ran.