What you're hiding - English

During Nyméria’s live stream, the comments moved too fast for her to read them all. Gifts, jokes, debates about books. A flood of words crashing across the screen like digital fireworks.

Nyméria smiled, a small, almost shy smile she kept only for her followers. That night she felt steady. Grounded. Surrounded.

The soft light from her ring light traced gentle shadows across her cheeks and brought out the deep burgundy of her hair. She talked about her latest reads, the books she loved, the ones that frustrated her, the characters who felt too close or not close enough. Her voice had a raw, unfiltered quality her subscribers loved. That was why they kept coming back.

Then, in the middle of the endless stream of messages, one comment caught her attention.

Just one. Lost among thousands.

“I know what you’re hiding.”

She blinked. The message was still there. She hadn’t imagined it.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. A cold shiver ran up her spine, one she couldn’t quite hide. She tried to keep talking, but her voice faltered for half a second. Barely noticeable to anyone who didn’t know her well. Nyméria felt it, though. She felt the crack.

She scrolled quietly through the list of viewers, looking for the username.

A plain name. No profile picture. No bio. Nothing. The account had been created that same day.

She had trouble swallowing. Her mind tried to rationalize it. It’s just a joke. Some random hater trying to mess with her, like they always did. People wrote terrible things online to get attention.

But this wasn’t nothing.

Because she knew exactly what the comment was referring to.

The underground parking garage. The screams. Her heart pounding so hard it hurt. The woman on the ground. The blood.

And above all, the gaze of the man in the white rabbit mask. The one that had cut straight through her like a blade.

Her fingers trembled slightly just out of frame. She slipped them under the desk, hoping no one would notice. The live stream went on, bright and loud and cheerful. Her followers laughed, typed, sent gifts. They knew nothing. They saw nothing.

But Nyméria did.

She was living the scene all over again.

The flickering lights of the parking garage. The woman’s raw, tearing screams. The laughter of the men.

The massive, almost unreal silhouette of the man in the white rabbit mask.

And that frozen moment when he had lifted his head and looked directly at her.

He had seen her.

He had recognized her.

She was certain of it now, even if she still didn’t understand why.

She shook her head lightly, trying to push the images away. She needed to get back in control. Breathe. Keep the stream going and, most importantly, not panic.

— Sorry, she said softly. I had a little glitch.

Her eyes kept drifting back to that one viewer.

He was still there. Silent after what he had written. Like a stalker.

When the live ended, she clicked on the username again. Still no profile picture. No videos. Only her listed as a subscriber. No clues at all. A complete ghost.

Her heart started racing faster. The room seemed to shrink around her, the walls pressing in. An invisible weight settled on her chest. She took a slow, deep breath the way her psychiatrist had taught her.

Once. Twice. Three times.

The feeling didn’t leave.

She went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. When she straightened up, she caught her reflection in the mirror.

She looked different. Too pale. Fragile. Vulnerable. Exactly like she had when she was younger. The sensation clung to her skin.

In that moment, she understood something important.

This wasn’t a coincidence. It wasn’t a joke. It wasn’t just some random hater.

He had found her.

And he had just told her, live in front of hundreds of people, that he knew.

That he was aware she had seen everything.

That he understood she was never supposed to be there.

That he knew she hadn’t forgotten.

And most of all…

He wasn’t finished with her.