Sam snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Earth to Raven. You good?”
I force my eyes away from the window, pretending my heart isn’t racing. “Yeah. Just… tired.”
But when I look back, he’s gone.
And somehow, that’s worse.
I keep my hands wrapped around the coffee cup like it’s a lifeline, the heat soaking into my palms. Sam keeps talking, her voice a steady hum that’s almost soothing, but my mind is stuck on the man at the lamppost.
Maybe I imagined it. Maybe it was just some random guy waiting for the bus. Or maybe…
I shake the thought away, forcing myself to focus on Sam. She’s complaining about her neighbour’s cat again—apparently it’s been pissing on her welcome mat for weeks. I try to smile, but it feels brittle, like it might crack and expose all the fear I’m trying to swallow.
I glance at the window again, just to be sure. The street’s empty now, just a few cars passing by, oblivious to my paranoia.
Sam sighs, finally noticing I’m not really paying attention. “Seriously, Raven. What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing.”
She raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “You look like you’re waiting for someone to jump out and stab you.”
I give a shaky laugh, but it sounds too high-pitched. “I just… didn’t sleep great.”
Sam leans forward, lowering her voice. “Is it happening again?”
I freeze, coffee halfway to my lips. “What do you mean?”
She gives me that look—the one that’s half pity, half worry. “The paranoia. Feeling someone watching you.”
I set the cup down hard enough to slosh coffee over the edge. I wipe it up with my sleeve, avoiding her eyes. “It’s nothing. Just… dreams, probably.”
Sam doesn’t push, but I can feel her concern like a weight pressing down on me. She’s been through this before—back when that guy from school wouldn’t leave me alone. Back when I kept finding notes on my car and couldn’t sleep without double-checking every lock.
It’s different now. I left that town behind. I left him behind.
But it doesn’t feel different.
My phone buzzes on the table, and I flinch, the sound slicing through the tension like a knife. Sam jumps too, her eyes widening. I force a breath and pick it up, checking the screen.
Unknown Number.
My heart stutters, but I swipe to open it. Just a text. One word.
Little Spider.
The phone slips from my fingers, clattering onto the table. Sam snatches it up, frowning. “Who’s texting you?”
I shake my head, throat too tight to answer. She reads the message, her frown deepening. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, reaching for the phone with trembling fingers. I delete the message, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.
Sam studies me, her fingers drumming on the table. “Do you know who sent that?”
“No.” My voice cracks. I hate it. It sounds weak, like I’m already breaking.
She’s about to say something else when the bell above the door jingles. A gust of cold air sweeps in, and I shiver. A man walks in, tall and broad-shouldered, with a dark jacket and messy black hair. I can’t see his face clearly—he keeps his head down as he moves to the counter.
My stomach twists itself into a knot. It’s just a guy. It’s just a guy.
