Silent Exposure

Selene woke to silence.

No footsteps in the hallway. No humming from the kitchen. Just the sound of the radiator hissing softly, like the apartment was holding its breath.

She sat up.

The room was dim, the windows fogged over. Outside, the city carried on. But inside—it felt like time had paused.

Something was wrong.

She rubbed her head. There was a slight ache behind her eyes. Maybe from the wine. Or maybe something else.

The air tasted strange. Sharp. Faintly metallic.

She walked into the kitchen.

The gas stove was off—but the scent still lingered.

Her breath caught.

"Kairo?" she called out.

No answer.

His jacket was missing. His camera bag too.

She checked her phone.

No new messages.

But a single photo was in her gallery—one she didn't remember taking.

It was of her, asleep in bed.

Soft light from the window. Peaceful. Vulnerable.

Taken from just outside the room.

And under it, a message typed into the caption space:

"You were never supposed to survive me."

She staggered back.

Her mind reeled—trying to piece together what had happened while she slept. What almost happened.

Where was Kairo?

What had he chosen?

And most terrifying of all…

Who had taken the photo?

Back in the warehouse district, the streets were empty.

A figure stood under a flickering streetlight, holding a burned photo—its edges curled, the image inside gone.

Kairo?

Maybe.

But from a distance, it was hard to tell.

Pain was the first thing she felt.

A sharp pulse behind her eyes. Her wrists stung—torn skin and rope burns. Her throat was raw from screaming into nothing.

But she was alive.

Lina opened her eyes to darkness. No light. No sound. No idea how much time had passed.

Only one thing was clear:

Kairo wasn't there.

She tried to move but flinched. Her legs were numb. Her breath came in slow, ragged gasps. But her mind was working. Fast. Spinning.

She remembered the photo.

Vera's voice.

That question:

"Will he choose you?"

Tears blurred her vision—but she didn't cry. She was beyond crying now.

Something shifted nearby.

Light flooded the room from a single uncovered bulb. It was harsh. Deliberate. Revealing the chair. The camera. The walls lined with photos she hadn't noticed before—each one a different version of herself:

Laughing.

Crying.

Kissing Kairo.

And one, burned at the edges, marked in red ink:

"Unfinished."

Footsteps.

Vera entered. Calm. Dressed in black. Her eyes gleamed with something that wasn't joy—but certainty.

"I thought you should see what he didn't," Vera said, stepping forward.

Lina tried to speak, but her throat wouldn't work.

Vera knelt beside her. "He made his choice. But it wasn't about you. Or Selene. It was about him. About what he feared losing the most."

She smiled. Almost gentle.

"And you weren't it."

Lina's heart cracked—but didn't break.

Because somewhere inside her, something else began to rise.

Not pain.

Anger.

"I don't care what you think he chose," Lina croaked. "I'm still here."

Vera tilted her head. "Not for long."

And then—she turned the camera.

Not at Lina.

But at herself.

Click.

The shutter snapped.

The lights went out.

And once again, Lina was alone…

…but this time, she wasn't waiting to be saved.

She was planning to fight back.