This is an intense and gripping continuation! You're doing a great job building suspense and emotional depth. Here's a poli
Emily stared at the man in the hood, her heart pounding so loudly it echoed in her ears. He didn't move at first—just stood there, watching her with cold, unreadable eyes.
Then, without warning, he stepped forward, crouched beside her, and pulled something from his pocket.
A knife.
His lips curled into a cruel smirk as he dragged the blade across her skin—not deep, but enough to make her scream behind the cloth gag.
"Stop! Stop, please!" she cried through muffled sobs, writhing in panic.
But he didn't care.
The pain seared through her arm as he made another shallow cut—like he was sending a message.
Then, as quickly as he appeared, he stood up and walked out, slamming the door behind him.
Emily flinched at the sound, tears streaming down her face.
She was alone again.
Alone, in pain, and shaking.
Her wrists throbbed. Her breathing was ragged. But through the tears and terror, her mind was trying to stay awake, alert.
That voice…
It wasn't unfamiliar.
It was masked and distorted—but something about it struck her.
A tone. A word. An accent.
She knew that voice. Or she used to.
---
She forced herself to look around the room again. A rusty old toolbox in one corner. A stack of bent metal chairs. A shattered mirror on the floor, reflecting her broken image.
Then something caught her eye—a glint of silver halfway under a crate.
She stretched her fingers as far as she could, pulling it toward her.
It was a broken keychain.
A silver heart… and a familiar school logo.
Her eyes widened.
It was Jayden's.
The one he gave her on their anniversary.
Her stomach turned.
---
Meanwhile, back at the school, the final prom song played as the crowd gathered around the stage.
Jayden stood there, crown slightly crooked, smirking like a king. A girl clung to his arm, laughing.
He hadn't even asked about Emily. Hadn't texted. Hadn't cared.
Emily's friends stood off to the side, their smiles gone.
"Still no reply?"
"Nothing. Her Snap location's still gone."
They looked at one another. Nervous. Restless.
"She wouldn't just leave like that."
"She would've told someone."
One of them—Lena, Emily's best friend—suddenly turned and walked briskly toward the bathroom. Something didn't feel right.
As she pushed the door open, her breath caught in her throat.
There, lying on the cold tiles, was Emily's phone.
The screen was cracked. The flashlight was still on.
Lena picked it up with trembling hands.
"Guys," she whispered into their group chat, snapping a photo.
> "Something's seriously wrong."
---
Back in the dark room, Emily's hands were raw, the ropes now looser than before. She grit her teeth, ignoring the sting in her arm.
She pulled harder. One wrist slipped free.
She was almost there.
But before she could move again, she heard footsteps outside the door.
This time, there were two people.
She held her breath, her body frozen.
A muffled voice—one male, one female.
They were arguing in hushed tones.
Emily leaned toward the door, straining to hear.
"We shouldn't have brought her here—"
"It's too late now."
"She wasn't supposed to get hurt!"
Emily's eyes widened.
There's someone else helping him? Someone who didn't want this?
The door creaked again. The lights above flickered.
Emily backed into the corner, her hands shaking.
The door handle turned slowly.
And then…
Silence.