The next morning Jenna stood in the kitchen, the sun rays filtering through the windows, casting a soft glow on the countertops. She moved methodically, fixing breakfast for Tyler. Her movements were automatic, a routine honed by years of single parenthood. As she scrambled eggs and toasted bread, the TV in the background droned on with the morning news.

She glanced at the screen just as the newscaster shifted to a breaking story. "Tragic news this morning as local repairman Grant Page was found dead in his apartment under mysterious circumstances," the anchor reported solemnly. Jenna's expression remained neutral, her face a mask of calm indifference. She had expected this news, but the reality of it playing out on the screen made it more concrete, more real. Yet, she felt no remorse, just a cold detachment from the man who had become a casualty in her quest for justice.

Hearing Tyler's footsteps, Jenna quickly reached for the remote and turned off the TV. She didn't want her son exposed to such grim news, especially news that was so closely tied to her own actions.

"Morning, Mom!" Tyler exclaimed; his voice full of youthful energy as he bounded into the kitchen.

"Good morning, sweetie," Jenna replies, turning to greet him with a smile. "Breakfast is almost ready. Don't want you to miss the bus.

As she plates the breakfast, Tyler hops onto a stool at the kitchen counter, his legs swinging. He starts eating, his eyes wide with excitement. "We have a field trip next week! Can you sign the permission slip?"

"Of course, I can," Jenna says, her tone light, masking the turmoil within her. "Eat up, you don't want to be late."

The conversation is a brief respite for Jenna, a moment of normalcy in the midst of her chaotic thoughts.

As Tyler finished his breakfast and grabbed his backpack, Jenna walked him to the door. "Have a great day at school, honey," she said, kissing him on the forehead.

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"Bye, Mom!" Tyler called out, rushing to catch the bus.

Once Tyler was gone, the house fell into silence, a blatant contrast to the morning's activity. Jenna cleaned up the kitchen, her mind already shifting to the plans for the evening. She needed to be prepared, to have everything in place for her encounter with Xavier Frostwater.

She headed out to her car, driving to a store on the other side of town where she wouldn't be recognized. Her shopping list was specific, each item chosen for a particular purpose in her carefully crafted plan.

In the store, Jenna moved meticulously through the aisles, her mind singularly focused on the tools she needs for her impending confrontation with Xavier Frostwater. She selects the pliers with a craftsman's eye, feeling their weight and testing their grip. The ropes, methylated spirit, and nitrile gloves are all chosen with the same meticulous care. To any onlooker, she might appear to be a diligent homeowner preparing for a weekend of DIY.

As she headed to the self-checkout, Jenna's path unexpectedly crossed with a figure from her past. It was the woman who had dented her car months ago at the gym, the same woman who had refused to take responsibility and instead blamed Jenna. Jenna remembered the incident vividly; it had escalated far beyond a mere parking lot dispute. Fueled by a sense of injustice, Jenna had confronted the woman at her home, resulting in a physical altercation that had left the woman with a battered face and Jenna with an ongoing suspension from her current job and a lawsuit on her hands.

"You! You're that demon!" the woman exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at Jenna. People in the store begin to turn, their curiosity piqued by the unfolding drama.

"You ruined my life!" the woman continued, her voice rising in volume. "Look at what you did to my face!" She gestured to the scars that marked her features. "You're a monster” she hissed.

Jenna, maintaining her composure, continues to scan her items as if the woman's words are mere background noise. She speaks in a calm, almost eerie tone, "Accidents happen, don't they? Just like the one with your face and my car.

The woman, trembling with a mix of anger and fear, retorts, "You should be in jail!

On her way out of the store, Jenna turns to the woman, her face an impassive mask. She leans in close, her voice a sinister whisper, "Scars are just skin deep, but fear... fear lingers. Remember, some monsters are real. And sometimes, they come back for a second visit."

The woman recoils, as if Jenna's words are a physical blow, her eyes wide with unspoken terror. Jenna straightens up and strides out of the store, leaving the woman in a state of shock and the bystanders in a murmur of confusion.

As she drove home, her car filled with the tools of her vengeful trade, Jenna's mind was already back on Xavier Frostwater. The encounter at the store was a mere distraction, a momentary blip in her larger mission.