The Last Story

Emma's POV

The phone rang at exactly 3:47 AM, jolting Emma awake from another fear about being alone forever.

"Emma Martinez?" The voice was cold, professional.

"Yes?" Emma sat up in bed, her heart racing. Nobody called this late with good news.

"This is Detective Sarah Chen, NYPD. I need to ask you about your cousin Rebecca Martinez."

Emma's blood turned to ice. She hadn't talked to Rebecca in over a year, not since their terrible fight at Christmas. But Rebecca was still family. Still the girl who used to braid Emma's hair and tell her everything would be okay.

"What about Rebecca?" Emma whispered.

"She's dead, Miss Martinez. We found her body three hours ago."

The words hit Emma like a punch to the stomach. She doubled over, unable to breathe. Rebecca was only twenty-six. She had her whole life ahead of her.

"How?" Emma managed to ask.

"Murder. I can't say more over the phone, but we need to talk. Can you come to the station this morning?"

Emma hung up the phone with shaking hands. She stared at the ceiling of her tiny Brooklyn apartment, tears running down her face. Rebecca was gone. The cousin who had been like a sister to her was dead, and Emma hadn't even known she was in danger.

She got out of bed and walked to her laptop. Writing was the only thing that helped when the world felt like it was coming apart. Her fingers moved across the keys almost by themselves.

"Dating in New York is like playing Russian roulette with your heart. You never know which guy will be the one to destroy you completely."

Emma stopped typing. She was meant to write about dating disasters for her blog, but how could she write about romance when someone had just murdered her cousin? Her editor, Carol, had been pushing her for more personal stories, more real feeling. But Emma kept her deepest thoughts locked away where nobody could hurt her.

She'd learned early that trusting people led to pain. Her father left when she was eight. Her college boyfriend cheated with her best friend. Every man she'd ever loved had left her broken and alone.

So she wrote funny stories about bad dates instead. Safe stories that made people laugh without showing how much she hurt inside.

But now Rebecca was dead, and Emma couldn't pretend everything was fine anymore.

She closed her laptop and grabbed her running shoes. Jogging always helped her think, helped her feel like she had some control when everything else was chaos. The streets were empty at 4 AM, just the way she liked them. No crowds, no noise, just her feet hitting the sidewalk and the sound of her own breathing.

Emma ran through the dark Brooklyn streets toward Central Park. She needed to tire herself out fully, needed to run until her legs gave out and her mind went quiet. Maybe then she could figure out how to deal with Rebecca's death.

As she entered the park, Emma felt the first drops of rain. Perfect. Even the weather was crying today.

She picked up her speed, running faster and faster through the empty paths. Her lungs burned and her legs ached, but she didn't slow down. She couldn't slow down. If she stopped moving, she'd have to think about Rebecca lying cold and alone somewhere.

Emma was so focused on running that she didn't notice the tree root sticking up from the road until it was too late.

Her foot caught on the root and she went flying forward, her arms windmilling as she tried to catch her balance. The ground rushed up to meet her face, and Emma closed her eyes, waiting for the contact.

Instead, strong hands caught her around the waist, pulling her back from the fall.

"Whoa there," said a warm voice. "I've got you."

Emma found herself pressed against a strong chest, breathing hard from fear and running. She looked up to see the most beautiful blue eyes she'd ever seen. The man holding her had sandy brown hair and a face that belonged in movies, not running through Central Park at 4 AM.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice full of genuine worry.

Emma realized she was still in his arms and quickly stepped back, embarrassed. "I'm fine. Thank you. I wasn't watching where I was going."

"It's dark, and you were running pretty fast," the stranger said with a gentle smile. "I'm Ryan, by the way. Ryan Cole."

"Emma," she said, surprised by how normal her voice sounded. Inside, her heart was doing strange things that had nothing to do with running.

Ryan knelt down to check her scraped knee. "You're bleeding a little. Here, let me help."

He pulled a clean tissue from his pocket and carefully cleaned the small cut. His touch was gentle, careful, like she was something precious that might break.

"You don't have to do that," Emma argued, but she didn't pull away.

"My mom always said you should help people when they fall," Ryan said, looking up at her with those amazing eyes. "Are you sure you're okay? You look like you've been crying."

Emma touched her face, surprised to find tears still on her cheeks. She'd forgotten about them while running.

"Bad night," she said quietly.

"Want to talk about it?" Ryan asked, standing up. "I know we just met, but sometimes it's easier to talk to strangers."

Emma almost said no. She never talked to strangers, never opened up to people she didn't know. But something about Ryan felt safe, familiar, like she'd been waiting her whole life to meet him.

"My cousin died tonight," she heard herself say. "Someone killed her."

Ryan's face instantly filled with sympathy. "I'm so sorry. That's terrible."

"I hadn't talked to her in a year," Emma continued, the words pouring out of her. "We had a stupid fight, and I was too proud to call her. Now I'll never get the chance to say I'm sorry."

"She knew you loved her," Ryan said softly. "Family fights don't change that."

They stood there in the rain, two strangers having a moment of real connection. Emma felt something she hadn't felt in years - like someone actually understood her pain.

"Would you like to get coffee?" Ryan asked. "I know a place that opens early. You shouldn't be alone right now."

Emma looked into his kind eyes and felt her walls starting to collapse. Maybe it was time to trust someone again. Maybe Rebecca's death was a sign that life was too short to stay closed off forever.

"Okay," she said. "I'd like that."

As they walked toward the park exit together, Emma felt a tiny spark of hope in her chest. For the first time in years, she wasn't totally alone.

But as they reached the street, Emma's phone buzzed with a text message. She glanced down at the screen and her blood turned to ice.

The message was from Rebecca's phone: "Emma, I'm in trouble. Don't trust anyone. He's coming for you next."

Emma stared at the phone, her hands shaking. Rebecca had been dead for hours. So who had just sent this message?