The house sits at the edge of nowhere, surrounded by trees so thick the nearest road feels like a memory. You told yourself the isolation would keep you safe. No town. No whispers. No reminder of how close you came to saying yes to the boy with the dark eyes and the coffee shop smiles. Then the lights flicker. Something heavy lands on the porch. The door doesn't rattle the way wind makes it rattle. It shifts - slow, deliberate, like whatever is on the other side already knows you're standing three feet away. Tyler broke out. And he didn't come here to apologize.