Dinner ended with the same careful politeness it had begun with.
Plates were cleared.
Chairs moved softly.
Randy's father insisted she stay a little longer for dessert, but Claire declined gently.
"It's getting late," she said with a small smile. "I should head home."
"I'll take you," Randy said immediately.
Too quickly.
Claire noticed.
Outside, the night air felt cooler than before. The front yard lights cast long shadows across the driveway. The gate stood half-open, security stationed near the entrance.
Diana remained by the doorway.
Silent.
Watching.
Claire stepped down the final stair and paused near the car, waiting for Randy to unlock it.
That was when she felt it.
A shift in the air.
A presence.
Footsteps — too fast.
Too direct.
Claire turned her head.
And saw him.
A figure rushing from the darker side of the driveway —
a glint of metal reflecting under the porch light.
A knife.
Time fractured.
Her body froze instantly.
The image in front of her overlapped with another memory —
another night —
another blade —
another moment where she had not been fast enough.
Before reborn.
Before everything reset.
Her breath stopped.
Not again.
The attacker lunged.
Straight toward her.
Claire couldn't move.
But someone else did.
"Claire!"
Randy's voice cut through the air as he stepped in front of her without hesitation.
His hand shot forward and grabbed the attacker's wrist mid-air.
The blade stopped just inches from Claire's chest.
For a split second, the three of them stood locked together —
straining.
Then—
The knife twisted.
A sharp gasp escaped Randy.
Blood.
It dripped down from his palm, staining his sleeve instantly.
Claire's heart slammed violently in her chest.
"Randy!"
With sudden strength, Randy shoved the attacker backward. The man stumbled, wrenched his hand free, and ran toward the gate.
"Security!" Randy's father's voice thundered from the doorway. "Catch him!"
Two guards sprinted after the fleeing figure, their footsteps echoing down the street.
Silence returned — but it was no longer calm.
It was shattered.
Claire stared at Randy's hand.
Blood continued to fall, dark and steady against the pale pavement.
"You're bleeding," she whispered.
Randy looked at her instead of his injury.
"You're okay?"
Even now.
He was checking her first.
Claire swallowed hard and grabbed his wrist carefully. "We're going to the hospital. Now."
Behind them, Diana stood frozen near the door.
Her face was pale.
Her lips parted slightly.
But she said nothing.
Not a word.
No shock.
No scream.
No rush forward.
Just watching.
Claire noticed.
And remembered.
Randy's father hurried down the steps. "The car. Quickly."
The ride to the hospital felt unreal.
Claire pressed a folded cloth against Randy's hand, trying to stop the bleeding.
Her fingers trembled — not from fear of blood.
But from memory.
This was how it started before.
A knife.
A sacrifice.
A moment she could not change.
But this time—
He was still alive.
Randy leaned back in the seat, his face slightly pale but composed.
"You froze," he said quietly.
Claire's grip tightened.
"I remembered something," she answered honestly.
"What?"
She didn't reply.
The hospital lights flooded their vision as the car stopped.
Inside, everything moved quickly — nurses, antiseptic smell, white walls.
The wound was deep but not fatal. The doctor said the blade had sliced his palm when he grabbed it, missing major arteries by mere centimeters.
"Lucky," the doctor muttered.
Lucky.
Claire stood beside the hospital bed as Randy's hand was stitched and bandaged.
Her eyes never left him.
When they were finally alone, Randy looked up at her.
"You don't look surprised."
Her breath caught slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"It felt," he said slowly, studying her face, "like you were expecting something."
Claire's chest tightened.
Because she had.
Not this exact moment.
But danger.
She had felt it circling her ever since the incident at the dorm.
Since the hoodie.
Since the warnings.
"I didn't expect this," she said softly. "But I knew something wasn't over."
Randy was quiet for a long time.
Then, quietly:
"Someone wants you gone."
Not a question.
A conclusion.
Claire's gaze lowered to his bandaged hand.
"And you got hurt because of me."
Randy's lips curved faintly despite the pain. "I chose to."
Her heart twisted painfully.
Outside the hospital room, Randy's father was speaking to someone on the phone — likely security.
The attacker had escaped.
No identity.
No capture.
No answers.
And Diana?
She hadn't come to the hospital.
Not even a message.
Not even a call.
Claire stood very still.
Something about tonight didn't feel random.
The attacker knew where she would be.
Knew the timing.
Knew the layout.
And Diana just happened to be there?
Her mind sharpened.
This was not coincidence.
When Randy finally drifted into light sleep from exhaustion, Claire stepped out into the hallway alone.
The fluorescent lights hummed softly above her.
She took out her phone.
Her reflection stared back at her in the black screen.
You've seen this pattern before.
Different faces.
Different timeline.
But the same intention.
Someone wants the story to end.
Her fingers curled slowly.
Then I won't let it.
Not again.
And somewhere far from the hospital —
in a dark street corner —
a figure removed his hood.
Watching the hospital building from a distance.
Waiting.
Because tonight had failed.
But the game—
Had only just begun.
The hospital room was quiet except for the steady beeping of the monitor.
Randy slowly opened his eyes again.
Claire was still there.
Standing near the bed.
Arms folded tightly, as if holding herself together.
"You should go home," Randy said softly.
Claire looked at him immediately. "I'm not leaving."
His lips curved faintly. Even injured, even pale — he still tried to look composed.
"Claire," he continued, his voice calmer than the situation deserved, "you're still in shock."
"I'm fine."
"You're not."
Silence.
Her fingers were still trembling slightly.
Randy noticed.
He shifted carefully, ignoring the sting in his palm. "If something happened to you tonight…" he paused, exhaling slowly, "I wouldn't forgive myself."
Claire's chest tightened.
"You got hurt because of me," she said quietly.
"I chose to step in."
"That doesn't make it better."
Randy watched her for a long moment. His eyes softened — but there was something else underneath.
Something heavier.
"I'll ask my bodyguard to take you home," he said firmly this time. "And he'll stay outside your house tonight."
"No."
The refusal came instantly.
Too fast.
Randy blinked slightly. "Claire—"
"I'm not going home until the doctor says you're completely okay."
His gaze sharpened.
"Claire."
"I mean it."
The room felt smaller.
The fluorescent light above cast pale shadows under her eyes. She looked exhausted — but determined.
Randy lowered his voice. "You don't feel safe going home alone."
It wasn't a question.
She didn't answer.
Because that would mean admitting it.
Admitting that the moment she saw the knife —
she wasn't just frozen by fear. She was reliving death.
Before reborn.
Before this second chance.
"I don't want to be alone tonight," she finally whispered.
That was the truth.
Not about safety.
About the silence.
About what her mind would replay if she closed her eyes.
Randy's expression changed.
Softer.
Protective.
"I'll have two guards escort you," he insisted gently. "One in front. One behind. They won't leave."
Claire shook her head.
"You're injured."
"And you're shaken."
The tension between them thickened — not from anger, but from stubborn care.
A quiet knock interrupted them.
Randy's father stepped in. "The police came by to ask questions. They'll return tomorrow."
His eyes moved to Claire.
"You should rest, dear."
She bowed her head slightly. "I'm okay, Uncle."
He looked at her for a few seconds — thoughtful, measuring — before speaking again.
"Randy is stable. The doctor said he can be discharged tomorrow morning."
Stable.
The word eased something inside her.
But not enough.
Randy sighed softly. "You heard him."
Claire looked at his bandaged hand again.
White gauze.
Red seeping faintly through the edge.
Her jaw tightened.
"What if he comes back?" she asked quietly.
No one answered immediately.
Because that possibility existed.
Randy's father spoke carefully. "Security will be doubled. At our house. And at yours."
At yours.
Claire looked up sharply.
"You've already arranged that?" she asked.
"Yes."
Too quick.
Too prepared.
Her thoughts flickered.
As if they had expected something.
Randy noticed the shift in her eyes.
"Claire," he said quietly, "trust me."
The words hung in the air.
Trust me.
She wanted to.
But trust had nearly killed her once before.
Still—
She couldn't deny what she felt when he stepped in front of that blade without hesitation.
Slowly, she nodded.
"…Fine. I'll go home."
Relief flickered briefly across Randy's face.
"But," she added firmly, "I'm coming back first thing in the morning."
He almost smiled. "You're stubborn."
"So are you."
A faint silence settled between them — softer now.
Outside the room, a tall man in a black suit stepped forward.
Randy's personal bodyguard.
Expression unreadable.
Presence solid.
He bowed slightly to Claire. "Miss Claire. I'll escort you."
She hesitated one last time, looking at Randy.
He held her gaze.
Alive.
Breathing.
Safe.
"Rest," he told her gently.
She swallowed and finally turned toward the door.
As she walked down the hospital corridor, the bodyguard a few steps behind her, her mind replayed one detail.
Diana's silence.
Not shock.
Not panic.
Not concern.
Just watching.Claire's eyes hardened slightly.
This wasn't random.And whoever sent that attacker—
Knew her movements too well.
As she stepped into the night air again, escorted under tight security, one quiet thought echoed in her mind:
If tonight failed…
They will try again.
And next time—
She won't freeze.