Concrete walls swallowed the hum of Manhattan until it was nothing but a distant heartbeat. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, flickering every few seconds, casting everything in sickly green.

Three in the morning. The brand shoot had run long. Now there was only the echo of her own footsteps, the jingle of her keys, and the weight of a long day pulling at her shoulders.

Her bag hung loose across her body. Her phone buzzed — probably Jocelyn checking in. Y/N smiled, glancing down at the sea turtle case, the little green shell catching the light.

Then she heard it.

A scrape. Behind her. Slow. Deliberate.

She kept walking, grip tightening on her keys.

Another scrape. Closer.

And a laugh — low, mean, and far too close.