Seventeen-year-old Ethan Carter was taking a shortcut through the foggy alley behind Miller’s Diner, his sneakers scuffing against the cracked pavement. It was past midnight on a chilly night and he just wanted to get home after a late shift bussing tables. The streetlamp flickered, casting jagged shadows, when he heard a muffled scream.
He was frozen in time.Against his better judgment, he crept toward the sound, peering around a dumpster. Two figures struggled in the dim light. He sees a man in a black coat, his face obscured by a fedora, and a woman in a red scarf, clawing at his arm. Before Ethan could react, the man plunged a knife into her chest. Her scream cut off as she crumpled to the ground, blood pooling beneath her.
Ethan’s heart slammed against his ribs. He stumbled back, his foot kicking a stray can. The metallic clatter echoed like a gunshot. The man’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Ethan’s through the haze. They were cold, unfeeling, and now they knew him.
“Run, kid,” the man growled, wiping the blade on his sleeve.
Ethan bolted, his breath ragged as he sprinted down the alley. He heard the man’s heavy footsteps behind him, gaining fast. Ethan darted left into a narrower side street, the damp bricks scraping his shoulder. His phone buzzed in his pocket—probably his mom checking in—but he couldn’t stop to answer. Not now.
The footsteps slowed, but Ethan knew better than to stop. He ducked behind a stack of crates near a loading dock, pressing himself against the wall, trying to quiet his gasping breaths. The man’s shadow loomed at the alley’s entrance, his silhouette scanning the darkness. Ethan’s eyes darted to the glint of the knife still in the man’s hand, now streaked with fresh blood.
“You can’t hide forever,” the man called, his voice low and deliberate. He took a step closer, the crunch of gravel under his boots sending a shiver down Ethan’s spine.
Ethan’s mind raced. The police station was three blocks away, but he’d have to cross the open street to get there. He weighed his odds, then made a break for it, sprinting toward the faint glow of the main road. The man cursed and gave chase, his longer strides closing the gap.
Ethan’s legs burned as he burst onto the street, nearly colliding with a late-night delivery truck. He waved his arms, shouting for help, but the driver only honked and swerved. Behind him, the man was just a few yards away, his face now visible under a streetlamp—scarred, with a twisted sneer.
Ethan dove into another alley, this one leading to the riverfront. He could hear the water lapping against the docks, smell the damp rot of the boards. His foot caught on a loose plank, and he stumbled, his knee slamming into the ground. Pain shot through him, but he scrambled up, hearing the man’s boots thudding closer.
The dock ended at a rusted railing, the dark water below swirling with an oily sheen. Ethan spun around, trapped, as the man slowed to a walk, his knife gleaming under the moon. “You shouldn’t have looked, kid,” he said, raising the blade.
Ethan’s eyes darted to the water. It was his only chance. With a desperate lunge, he vaulted over the railing, the icy river swallowing him as the man’s shout echoed above. The current pulled him under, but he kicked hard, breaking the surface downstream, gasping for air. He couldn’t see the man anymore—but he knew this wasn’t over.
As he dragged himself onto the muddy bank, shivering and bruised, Ethan realized he’d just become the only witness to a murder—and the killer wouldn’t stop until he was silenced.
