Allie gasped awake.
The garage roller door was open.
And beside her—
A body.
She stumbled out of the car, her heart racing. Her eyes scanned the space. No signs of forced entry. No footsteps in the soot.
She ran to the security office, pulled the footage.
Her face paled.
No one had entered.
No one had left.
Just her. Sitting in that car. And then the camera glitching for three minutes.
She stared at her reflection in the monitor. Whispered to herself:
"What the hell is happening to me?"
She ran back to the body. Desperate for answers. Still hoping—begging—to find evidence of someone else. Anyone else.
As she knelt beside it, her expression shifted. Horror crept in like fog. Her fingers trembled as they hovered near the wounds—too clean. Too deliberate.
Then her gaze dropped.
Her arms. Sore.
Her fingernails. Black fibers caught beneath them.
She stood up so fast she nearly fell.
"No… no no no…"
She reached into the man's coat.
Pulled out a pair of black gloves.
They looked exactly like his.
Only they weren't his size.
She screamed. A sharp, primal sound.
Threw the gloves across the garage like they burned her.
And then… silence.
She stood frozen. Then slowly turned her back to the camera.
Took a step.
Paused.
Turned back.
A slow smile spread across her lips as she tugged at her hair. Eyes wild.
"Demons aren't real," she muttered, laughing a little.
But the laughter stopped.
Her face darkened.
And she whispered:
"Unless they live in you."