Reborn Into an Endless Murder Cycle

I shot to my feet in shock.

How could this be? The killer… wasn't my husband?!

From the other side of the wall came the heavy thud of something hitting the floor.

Reason told me that if I went out now, I might still be able to help my husband fight the attacker.

But the trauma of being killed three times before rooted me to the spot, leaving me unable to move.

The officer on the other end of the line kept calling out to me.

"Hello? Are you still there? Police are on their way—don't do anything rash!"

My hands shook as I braced myself against the wall.

The sounds outside faded into silence.

I had no idea who had won. I didn't know who was alive.

Only when the wail of sirens filled the entire building did I finally manage to move my stiff limbs and clear away the barricade.

The sight that greeted me was my husband lying in a pool of blood. He had already lost consciousness.

Tears burst from my eyes as I screamed, my voice breaking, "Please, save him!"

I rode in the ambulance with a policewoman.

Seeing how violently I was trembling, the nurse tried to reassure me.

"Ms. Parker, don't worry. Your husband's vital signs are stable for now."

The policewoman stood nearby for a moment before saying, "It doesn't look like there was a struggle. He only has one stab wound."

When he was attacked, my husband had deliberately avoided a fatal blow.

I nodded, wiping the cold tears from my face as my voice choked. "Thank goodness he's a doctor… he knew how to protect himself. Otherwise… he might not have survived…"

Looking at his pale lips, guilt flooded my chest.

At such a dangerous moment, my cowardice had made me stand by and do nothing. I wanted nothing more than to slap myself. If he really died, I would carry that regret for the rest of my life.

After surgery, he still hadn't regained consciousness, but the steady rhythm on the monitor brought me some relief. I gave a brief statement to the police.

They urgently pulled surveillance footage from the hallways and elevators, but found no suspicious individuals.

"The suspect is only about 170 centimeters tall," the lead officer said, showing me a photo. "Although that doesn't match the footprints in your living room, we can't rule out that he wore your husband's shoes left by the door."

I nodded. I had mostly calmed down by then.

"The suspect was extremely cautious. He only left half footprints—we can't determine depth or weight. So far, all the victims have been women around your age. That's likely why your husband survived."

Thinking back to my previous lives, I bit my lip and hesitated before asking, "Officer… is this really a random series of killings?"

His expression turned serious instantly. "Do you have any leads to share?"

After a moment's thought, I only mentioned how the attacker had clearly headed toward the master bedroom this time.

He noted it down and nodded.

"We'll need to wait until your husband wakes up before taking a full statement."

After all, I hadn't faced the attacker directly. There was little more I could provide.

Once the police left, exhaustion overwhelmed me.

I rested my head by my husband's bedside and drifted off for a while.

But when I woke up, the bed was empty.

My heart lurched violently. I rushed to the door, ready to go look for him.

But outside, all the lights had gone out.

Only the faint green glow of the emergency exit sign illuminated the silent corridor.

Holding my breath, I turned to go back inside and call the police.

The moment I turned—

A man, holding a long knife, his face hidden beneath a mask, stood less than a meter behind me—silent, pressed close to my back.

It was him.