Chapter 3

Even though I had switched to a new place overnight, I still couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the night I nearly got murdered and the sight of the victim's body.

My mental state was visibly deteriorating; for two straight days, I relied on copious amounts of black coffee just to stay awake.

Even Carter, who was away on business, was worried about me. "Avia, I know the whole neighbor situation has shaken you up, but you're safe now. The police are patrolling; you can't keep being this tense."

"Long-term stress will destroy you. You should see a therapist; I happen to know a really great one. Do it for me—just talk to her, okay?"

I wanted to refuse, but when I caught a glimpse of my own sunken eyes and jittery demeanor in the mirror, I finally relented.

The therapist said, "Your hyper-vigilance after the trauma is actually quite common."

"What should I do? I feel like everyone in the hallway wants to kill me," I said, burying my face in my hands.

"First, I recommend getting a full medical checkup, especially for your nervous system and cortisol levels. We need to rule out any pathological factors causing your anxiety. Second, if this city makes you feel unsafe, why not try changing your environment? Go to the beach or take a vacation in another state. Physically distancing yourself can greatly help rebuild your sense of safety."

After leaving the consultation room, I drove straight to Central Hospital.

Compared to the eerie silence of my apartment, the hustle and bustle of the hospital's waiting area provided a brief sense of relief.

I went through a series of blood tests and neurological reflex checks.

Half an hour later, I received the initial medical report.

Maybe I really should buy a ticket to leave this place immediately—Florida, anywhere, as long as it got me away from this shadow of death.

Just as I was calculating flight times, a man in a dark gray trench coat suddenly walked around the corner.

My attention completely shifted, and before I could dodge, I collided hard with his chest.

The report slipped from my hands and fell to the floor.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," he said, his voice deep and slightly apologetic.

Before I could bend down, he squatted and picked up my report for me.

"It's fine, I wasn't paying attention either," I forced a polite smile and reached out for the envelope.

But his hand paused in mid-air.

He frowned slightly, his gaze fixed on the top right corner of the report.

"Is this a special mark from the hospital?" He looked up at me, curiosity in his eyes.

"What?" My heart skipped a beat for no reason.

He pointed to the asterisk on my report and then opened his own report to show me.

His report was clean, without that asterisk.

"Are you okay? Your face suddenly went pale," he said, his voice sounding distant.

I couldn't hear what he was saying anymore.

My mind was gripped by a terrifying thought.

The killer had found me again.