The window in the living room slid open without a sound. A figure climbed through, landing light on the carpet. He didn't rush. He came down the short hall like a man who already knew the layout.

{y/n} never heard the footsteps. The headphones were on, music loud enough to drown out the city beyond the glass.

Then the paper was gone from under her hands. A fist closed on her sweatshirt and slammed her back into the wall — hard. The fridge rattled. Something fell off the counter and rolled.

A hand clamped around her throat. The barrel of a pistol pressed cold against her temple. The red mask stared down at her from inches away, lenses flat and pitiless. Dark hair spilled out from under it, and through it ran one streak of white.

Under the domino mask, the eyes were glowing. Green. Like something burning behind the glass.