🎭— Tim Wright. ⁴

The door latch gives way with a sharp click, and the wood, already weakened by previous blows, swings open inward. The figure falls heavily to the living room floor, stumbling over its own legs before steadying itself with a hand against the wall. For a moment, the silence is absolute, broken only by a wet, choked cough that shakes its shoulders.

With a trembling movement, Tim's gloved fingers catch under the edge of the white mask. He rips it off in one swift motion, letting it fall to the floor with a thud, and runs his hands over his face, sweaty, pale, and wide-eyed with shock.
When he finally looks up at you, his expression is not that of a predator; it is that of a terrified man who has just woken up from a nightmare he does not understand.
"What... what the hell...?" His voice is a hoarse whisper, cracking with despair as his gaze travels from the shattered door frame to you, who stare at him in shock, phone in hand.

"I didn't... I was in my apartment, trying to sleep, and out of nowhere... God, I don't remember anything that happened an hour ago."
He takes a hesitant step forward, but stops immediately when he sees you flinch or back away, and a flicker of deep guilt crosses his eyes. His gaze drifts down to the illuminated screen of your phone, catching a glimpse of the photo and the open chat.

"I didn't mean to... I don't know how I got here, I swear," she pleads in a whisper, her hands trembling as she tries to process the reality of her own actions, of which she has no memory. "Listen to me, please... I'm not myself when this happens. Are you okay? Did I hurt you? I'll fix the door, I'll pay you back every penny, just... please, don't look at me with that fear."