"Be careful what you say. What you wish for. You never know who's listening."
I jolted upright in bed, a scream tearing out of my throat as sweat clung to my skin. Another night, another nightmare. You'd think I'd be used to them by now, but I never am.
It's been five years since I lost the best thing in my life—my sister, my second heartbeat, my best friend. No, I didn't lose her. Someone took her from me. And I will find him. And when I do, I'll kill him.
It was a hot Friday afternoon when Mum got the call. A cold voice on the other end told her to come "claim her daughter's remains."
Zara always called Mum every night at 9PM, and since she left for college, I texted her all day, every day. We were miles apart, but she was still my person—the only one I could completely bare my soul to, besides Ava.
So when 24 hours passed without a word from her, we knew something was wrong.
We drove to her campus immediately, but no one had seen her. Not in class, not in her hostel, not anywhere. That was when we filed a missing person report with the NYPD.
"We'll do everything we can to find her… alive or dead," one of the officers said.
Those words shattered something inside me.
His name tag read Detective Elijah Stone.
I stepped forward before I could stop myself. "Listen, Mr. Stone," I said, my voice shaking with rage, "you may have a stony heart, but my sister will be found. And she better be found alive and breathing, because if not, I swear to God you'll wish you were buried next to her."
"Phoebe!" Mum grabbed my arm quickly, pulling me back before I could go further.
She turned to the detective, her voice trembling with apology. "I'm so sorry, she's just shaken. Zara is like her twin… they've been inseparable since their father left. I hope you understand."
Detective Stone gave a slow nod. "It's fine."
"It's not fine," I whispered under my breath, tears already soaking into Mum's blouse.
That was Wednesday.
After that, I stopped functioning.
I didn't eat. I didn't sleep properly. I didn't speak—not to Mum, not to Harper, not to anyone. I stayed in my room, endlessly searching news sites, hoping her name would appear. Hoping she would suddenly be found.
Then the call came.
Detective Stone.
Mum's phone rang, and I snatched it immediately, putting it on speaker before she could react. My hands were shaking so badly I almost dropped it.
"Hello, Mrs Walker," his voice came through. "We found your daughter… or rather… her remains."
Everything went silent after that.
Zara was dead.
Someone had murdered her.
But it was the word "remains" that broke me further. My mind spiraled instantly—was her body intact? Had she been dismembered? Where had they even found her? What had they done to her?
A thousand questions formed at once, and none of them had answers.
Not then.
Not even now.
The drive to the morgue felt endless. The morgue… I never thought that word would belong in my life. Yet there we were, driving straight into it under a bright, unforgiving sun, like the world didn't know mine was ending.
All I wanted was to see my melanin beauty again… just once more.
And then I did.
My world shattered.
She lay on the autopsy table—still, silent, broken. Zara. Her brown skin was bruised and marked with violence, dried tears staining her cheeks. But it was her face that I could never forget. Thin, deliberate cuts ran across her skin, the doctor later confirming it was done with a kitchen knife.
Her chest was hollow.
Her heart was gone—gouged out and placed in her own hands.
A message. A warning. Something calculated. Something cruel.
Zara hadn't just been killed. She had been destroyed.
She fought. She suffered. And now I was left with the aftermath. I didn't cry then. And I didn't cry for a long time after.
I haven't been the same since.
And lately, the nightmares have gotten worse. My psychologist says it's trauma, emotional stress, and the fact that I'm starting college in the same place where everything began.
Whatever.
I know I'm never going back there.
But tomorrow, I start college—the same college Zara attended.
I chose it deliberately. I want to walk where she walked. Feel what she felt. Find what she couldn't.
And find whoever did this to her.
And make them pay.
Every night, the dreams return. Every night, I see him—Zara's killer. But I never reach the end. I never know if I fight back, if I kill him, if I survive. It always fades before the truth arrives.
And my greatest fear is this—
If I ever find him… will I be ready?