Part One
The Watcher
I see you when you lock the door. When you press your back to it like that will keep me out. I’m already inside, Little Spider. I’m in your breath, your bones, the crack in your skin where the fear seeps in. Run. I like when you run.
—D
CHAPTER ONE
DAMIEN
The night wraps around me like a shroud, thick and suffocating. I lean against the brick wall, letting the coarse texture scrape my knuckles as I tighten my grip on the chain around my wrist. The dim glow of the streetlamp cuts through the dark, but I don’t need light to see her.
She’s there—just across the street. Head down, keys clutched in her trembling hand, Raven fumbles with the lock to her door. The metal scrapes against the frame, and she swears under her breath, a soft, desperate sound that pulls a smirk from my lips.
I watch her—every movement slow, cautious. She thinks the night is just quiet, doesn’t realise it’s holding its breath, waiting. My own breath hitches as she gets the door open, stumbling inside like she’s just escaped something.
She hasn’t.
The door shuts, the faint click like a whisper of defeat. I could leave—fade back into the night, let her have this illusion of safety—but I don’t.
Instead, I wait, counting the seconds. One. Two. Ten. My heart pounds, matching the rhythm. I can see the glow throughher second-storey window—dim and flickering lamplight. She likes soft light; I’ve noticed. She never leaves it too dark, like she’s afraid of what might crawl out of the shadows.
I can’t help but wonder—does she know? Does some primal part of her sense me, feel the way I’ve been circling closer, like a spider weaving its web?
A shadow moves past the window—her silhouette. I hold my breath, watching the way she pulls the curtains, fumbling with the fabric as if it’s betraying her. A soft laugh slips from my throat.
Poor little spider. Trying so hard to hide.
I move closer, crossing the cracked pavement, my boots muffled against the wet ground. A car passes, headlights flashing over me, but I don’t flinch. I’m not the kind of man who gets noticed unless I want to be.
The side gate creaks when I push it open, but the wind swallows the sound. I slip into the narrow alley between her building and the next, leaning against the wall just beneath her window. The faint hum of her voice carries through the thin walls—she’s singing. Soft, broken notes, like she’s not sure if she should make noise at all.
I close my eyes, letting her voice wash over me, drowning in the way it vibrates against my skull. She doesn’t know how close I am—doesn’t know that her little sanctuary is nothing but a fragile web I could tear apart with a single pull.
A breeze catches my hair, and I run my fingers through it, pulling the chain tighter around my hand until it digs into my skin. The sting is sharp, grounding. I picture her face—the way her lips parted in surprise the first time I brushed past her on the pavement—like she felt the cold before she saw me.
A light flickers off inside. Another shadow, this time moving toward the bed. I crane my neck, trying to catch a glimpse through the tiny gap in the curtain. She’s sitting on the edge,head bowed, fingers twisting in her lap. I can’t see her eyes, but I know the look—haunted, like she’s trying to make sense of something that doesn’t fit.
She shifts, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees. It would be so easy to climb, to press my palm against the glass, watch her panic before she realises it’s just me. But that’s too easy. She’s not ready for that yet.
Instead, I hum softly under my breath, just loud enough to carry on the wind.
“Incy wincy spider, climbing up your spine…”
The wind rustles through the alley, and I catch the way her head jerks up, like a rabbit sensing a predator. My smile sharpens. She can feel me. Even when she doesn’t know I’m here, her body knows.
She pulls the blanket tighter, sinking down onto the mattress, her silhouette small and vulnerable. I could watch her like this for hours. Sometimes I do—just making sure she’s safe.
A low chuckle rumbles from my chest, and I push off the wall, sliding the chain back into my pocket. I’ll let her have this night, let her think the shadows are empty.
But I’ll be back.
And next time, I’ll be closer.
I don’t leave—not really. My feet carry me down the narrow alley, but my thoughts stay wrapped around her. The way her shoulders hunched, the way she curled into herself like a scared little thing trying to make herself smaller. It’s adorable, really—how she thinks hiding will keep her safe.
I reach the end of the block, hands shoved deep into my jacket pockets, the leather stretched tight over my knuckles. I stop beneath a burnt-out streetlamp, glancing back at thebuilding. The window’s dark now. She’s curled up in that bed, probably pulling the covers over her head like they’re armour.
