The breathing wasn’t beside her. It was behind the mirror.

The dust pattern on the mirror tells everything.
Someone wiped only the center clean — the exact spot where eyes would look through from the other side.

The breathing wasn’t in her room.
It was inches from her face, separated by a thin wall and a mirror designed to look normal from her side.

The perfectly made bed shows she never returned to it after the last night.
She woke up, realized the breathing wasn’t in the room…
and finally understood the apartment had a crawl space behind the mirror.

Whoever lived in it could watch her sleep every night at 3:11 a.m.
Silent. Waiting.
Breathing against the glass.

She didn’t disappear.
She ran.
They just found her first.