Little spider, trying so hard to build her web where no one can touch it. Too bad I’m already tangled in it.
A buzzing cuts through the quiet, and I pull my phone from my pocket. The screen glows with a new message:
Tomorrow night. Club at midnight. You in?
I scoff. Midnight. It’s always midnight—the hour when creatures crawl out of the cracks and pretend they belong. I thumb a quick reply:
Maybe.
I pocket the phone and glance back at the window one more time. If she knew the kinds of things I do when I’m not watching her, would she still sleep so peacefully? Would she still hum those little songs under her breath, like she’s trying to convince herself she’s fine?
I take the long way home—through the side streets that always smell faintly of petrol and stale beer. The night’s quiet, save for the distant rumble of a train somewhere beyond the warehouses. I catch my reflection in a darkened shop window—a ghost, shadow wrapped around muscle, hair wild and eyes sharper than the glass.
When I finally reach my place, I pause at the heavy steel door, listening for any sound inside. Nothing. Just as I like it. I slip in, flicking on a single lamp. The room glows in dull amber light. The space is bare—bed in the corner, weights stacked haphazardly on the floor, and the wall of screens flickering to life as I press a button on the remote.
Her building. Her window. The alley I just left. The cameras catch every angle, every move. I zoom in on the bedroom, just in time to see her shift in her sleep, curling tighter around a pillow.
A low growl slips past my lips, and I bite down on it. She shouldn’t look that soft. She shouldn’t look so damn breakable. It makes something dark and vicious coil in my chest.
My phone buzzes again. Another message:
You coming to the club or what?
I ignore it, eyes glued to the screen. She shifts again, the strap of her tank top slipping down her shoulder, and I grip the remote tighter. The urge to go back, to knock on that door just to see her face when she realises it’s me—it thrums in my blood like a pulse.
Instead, I press another button, and the feed changes—an older video. She was at the supermarket, pausing in the frozen aisle to stare at the ice cream selection. She picked mint chocolate chip. I remember the way her fingers hovered, like she couldn’t quite decide if she deserved something sweet.
She does. I’ll make sure she knows it.
I sink into the battered armchair, drumming my fingers against the armrest. The screens flicker, cycling through the feeds—her bedroom, the alley, the front of the building. Safe. She’s safe. For now.
I run my tongue over my teeth, eyes narrowing. I could make her see me—really see me. No more lurking in the shadows, no more watching from a distance. I could force her to look right at me, force her to admit that some part of her wants the danger.
But it’s not time. Not yet.
I flick the remote again, the screen returning to her sleeping form. My lips curl into a slow, dark smile.
“Incy wincy spider…”
I murmur, my voice a rasp that fills the empty room.
I’ll make her say my name. Make her whisper it like a prayer, like an admission of defeat.
But first, I’ll keep watching. Waiting. Letting the anticipation build until it’s too much for either of us to stand.
The spider waits. The web doesn’t have to chase its prey. It just has to be patient.
I can wait as long as it takes.
CHAPTER TWO
RAVEN
The room feels colder than usual, as if the draft snuck in through the cracked window while I slept. I pull the blanket tighter around me, trying to ignore the shiver tracing up my spine. My heart’s still racing, pounding so loud it almost drowns out the creaks of the old apartment.
I hate this place.
The walls are thin enough that I hear the old man next door hacking up his lungs like clockwork. The pipes rattle every morning, a grim reminder that I could probably kick the radiator into better shape. I find a false sense of peace here, a space where I can trick myself into feeling secure with the simple click of a lock.
