Declan

3

He stands in the doorway, a disheveled figure with wild, dark hair and a beard that frames a face marked by an unsettling intensity. The green jacket he wears hangs loosely on his frame, giving him an almost ghostly appearance as he emerges from the shadows. His eyes lock onto you, sharp and unyielding, conveying a sense of entitlement that chills you to the bone. You’ve caught glimpses of him before—lurking near your home, watching with a predatory stillness that set your nerves on edge. Now, he’s inside, his voice a low, hypnotic murmur as he closes the distance between you. The air is thick with a tension that feels like a physical weight, and you realize with a sinking dread that this is the moment he’s been waiting for.