The world returned in a haze of pain.

First—the throb. A deep, pulsing ache radiating from the back of her skull, hot and insistent, like a second heartbeat made of pure agony. Then—the taste. Copper and salt, blood slick on her tongue, dripping from her split lip. Finally—the touch. Rope, rough as sandpaper, biting into her wrists, her ankles, the fibers digging deep enough to draw thin, stinging lines of red.

Lila groaned, forcing her eyes open.

The light was dim, flickering—a single bulb swinging lazily from a rusted chain, casting jagged shadows across the cavernous space. A warehouse. Old, abandoned. The air was thick with the stench of motor oil, mildew, and something else—something metallic. Blood.

She tried to move, but her muscles screamed in protest. Her head lolled forward, strands of sweat-damp hair sticking to her face.

And then she saw it.

The screen.

A massive monitor, propped up on a rusted metal table, its surface cracked but still functional. Standing beside it, gloved fingers resting on a remote, was a figure in a black mask—featureless, smooth, inhuman.

"Finally awake," the voice said, distorted behind the mask. But beneath the electronic warping, Lila recognized it. Knew it in her bones.

Her stomach twisted.

The masked figure pressed a button.

The screen buzzed to life.

And Lila’s breath stopped.

Her face.

No—not hers. Lena’s. But wearing her skin, her features, a perfect, grotesque imitation.

The footage was grainy, shaky—security cam footage, maybe, or a phone recording. A dimly lit street at night. Rain slicked the pavement, reflecting the glow of distant streetlights.

And then—Chloe.

Running. Breath ragged, her dark hair whipping behind her, her face a mask of terror.

Headlights flared behind her.

Lila’s pulse spiked.

The car accelerated.

No. No no no—

Impact.

A sickening crunch of metal on bone. Chloe’s body launched, limbs flailing, before she hit the pavement with a wet, final thud. The car didn’t stop. The tires rolled over her—once, twice—before speeding away.

Lila gagged, her stomach heaving.

"That’s not—" she choked out, her voice raw. "I didn’t—"

The masked figure tilted their head. "But the police won’t know that, will they?"

A gloved hand rose.

And pulled off the mask.

Lila’s blood turned to ice.

"Mia?"

Her best friend. The girl who had stayed up with her until 3 AM, whispering secrets under blankets. The one who had held her hair back when she puked after too many shots, who had cried with her when Adrian first broke her heart.

Now, Mia’s eyes were hollow. Black with something worse than anger—vengeance.

"You let her die," Mia whispered.

Lila shook her head violently, the ropes sawing into her skin. "Mia, listen to me—that’s Lena in the video! She framed me—she’s wearing my face—"

Mia’s fist cracked across her jaw.

White-hot pain exploded through Lila’s skull. Her head snapped to the side, blood spraying from her mouth. Before she could recover, Mia grabbed her hair, yanked her head back, and drove her knee into Lila’s ribs.

The air left her lungs in a brutal whoosh.

"Liar," Mia hissed.

She struck again—this time with something metal. A flash of silver—a knuckle duster—before it connected with Lila’s cheekbone.

CRACK.

Lila screamed.

Warmth gushed down her face. Her vision swam, dark at the edges.

Mia leaned in, her breath hot against Lila’s ear. "You don’t get to talk. You get to choose."

A door screeched open behind them.

Lila blinked through the blood in her eyes.

Adrian.

He was barely standing. Blood streaked his temple, his wrists bound with zip ties, his shirt torn and soaked with sweat. A bruise darkened along his jaw, his lip split, one eye swollen shut.

A massive figure—a man, broad as a bear, his face obscured by a ski mask—shoved Adrian forward.

He collapsed to his knees in front of Lila, coughing blood.

Mia reached into her belt.

A gun.

She pressed it into Lila’s bound hands, forcing her fingers around the grip.

"Shoot him," Mia murmured, her voice sweet, like she was asking Lila to pass the salt. "Put a bullet in his traitorous heart, and I burn the video." She tapped her phone—the footage of "Lila" killing Chloe playing on a loop. "Refuse… and I send this to every cop in the city."

Lila’s hands shook.

Adrian lifted his head. His one good eye locked onto hers.

"Do it," he whispered.

Mia smiled.

"Choose."