Chapter 3

"Cough! Cough! Cough!"

I snapped awake at my desk again, cold sweat already soaking through my pajamas.

My heart was pounding against my ribs like a manic war drum.

11:00.

Right on cue, my phone screen lit up.

That fatal text message had arrived exactly as expected.

I didn't even look at the phone.

Memories of my two deaths were wildly intertwining in my mind.

The killer hadn't come through the front door; there was a hidden door in my apartment!

And this building belonged to Gideon. He was the one who personally handled all the renovations.

He was the only one who knew where the hidden doors were!

He was the only one with the keys!

That sick bastard—he wanted to kill me over our argument earlier!

Anger briefly overpowered my terror.

If staying bunkered down in my room was a death sentence, then I was going on the offensive!

I snatched the box cutter off my desk and, without even putting on shoes, yanked the door open and charged down the stairs like a madwoman.

The wooden staircase groaned violently beneath my feet.

"Gideon!"

"Get the hell out here!"

I rushed onto the second-floor landing and furiously hammered on his door.

11:04.

I had six minutes left.

The door jerked open.

Gideon was still wearing that grease-stained tank top, clutching a half-empty beer bottle in his hand.

He stared down at me—panting heavily and gripping a blade tight in my hand—his brow furrowing deeply.

"Nora?"

"Are you out of your damn mind?"

"What are you doing running down here with a knife in the middle of the night?"

He instinctively took a half-step back, holding the beer bottle defensively across his chest. His eyes were filled with genuine confusion, mixed with a sliver of that distinct alertness of a military vet.

"Drop the act!"

I took a step forward, aiming the tip of the box cutter straight at his face.

"Put the knife down, Nora."

"I'm warning you, I've seen combat. Don't make me put you down."

He dropped his voice, letting out a low rumble like an agitated bear.

"Save your bullshit threats!"

My voice was completely hoarse from sheer terror and rage.

"You built a hidden door in my apartment, didn't you?!"

"You did all the renovations in this building yourself!"

"You cranked that heavy metal up on purpose just to drown out the noise of you screwing around inside the walls!"

Gideon's brows knit into a hard, tight knot.

"Are you psycho?"

"I've just been sitting in my living room. I haven't even touched the stairs!"

"You're still lying!"

I screamed hysterically, the hand holding the knife trembling violently and completely out of control.

"You sent those threatening texts!"

"You said I was going to die at 11:10!"

"You're trying to kill me!"

Gideon was entirely stunned.

He stared hard into my bloodshot eyes as if I were spewing absolute fairy tales.

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"What hidden door?"

"What bullshit death text?"

"Did you get high rushing your deadline and start tripping?!"

"I'm calling an ambulance right now to have your crazy ass locked up!"

MEOOOW—!!!

A sharp, bloodcurdling yowl suddenly erupted from the stairwell, instantly interrupting our highly volatile standoff.

I whipped my head around and realized Barnaby had followed me down at some point.

His fur was standing completely on end, his eyes locked dead onto the shadows in Gideon's living room right behind him.

11:09.

My entire body stiffened.

Barnaby's reaction told me the killer was here.

But Gideon was standing right in front of me!

His hands were occupied with the beer bottle; he wasn't holding a knife at all!

If Gideon wasn't the killer, then who was?!

In that fraction of a second while my brain stalled, Gideon's pupils suddenly dilated, as if he were witnessing something unspeakably horrifying.

He aggressively dropped the beer bottle to the floor.

And roared out: "Watch your back!"

Too late.

A hand shot out from the shadows of the staircase behind me, viciously tangling into my long hair and yanking me violently backward.

In the next heartbeat, that familiar, icy dagger ruthlessly sliced through my carotid artery.

Blood spewed out in a horrific fountain, splattering directly across Gideon's face.

I collapsed to the floor, my vision rapidly blurring out.

I caught a glimpse of the expression on Gideon's face.

It wasn't the sinister smirk of a killer who had succeeded; it was pure, unadulterated terror.

He collapsed backward onto the ground out of sheer panic, scrambling wildly on his hands and knees to get away.

He wasn't the killer.

Who on earth could it be? Who could track me down with such lethal precision at exactly 11:10, no matter where I ran?

Could it be...