My wolf stirred in my gut, uneasy.
I looked up, half expecting to see someone standing in the gallery below. Empty, except for the shifting shapes the rain made on the polished floors. I exhaled, looked back at the spreadsheet, and tried to concentrate.
But then the air changed.
The temperature dropped, sharp as sleet. Something in the pressure—an old, animal sense—told me I was being watched. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. I could feel it: the weight of eyes, the steady, hungry gaze of something that did not belong here.
I reached for my coffee mug, hand shaking a little, and the spreadsheet flickered. The pixels rippled, like a rock had been thrown into the digital pond. For a split second, the cursor moved by itself—skittered from cellto cell, then stopped dead center on my name. I stared, willing myself to laugh, but the sound stuck in my throat.
A breath touched the back of my neck. Not a breeze, not the hiss of the vent—an actual, unmistakable exhale. Warm. Human, almost. Then a low, distant chuckle. Like a radio tuned to a dead channel, but the voice came through, anyway.
I whipped around so fast my chair nearly toppled. Nothing. Just the office, empty except for me and the hum of the storm. I stood, fists balled at my sides, and scanned every inch of glass, every reflection. My heart was going so hard I thought it might shake itself apart.
Then, as I turned back to the monitor, I saw it: a reflection in the corner of the darkened screen. Just for a second—a dropped frame, a glitch—there was a tall, sharp figure at the office door. It was gone before I could fully register it. I whipped my gaze to the doorway. No one.
But the sense of wrongness only grew.
I pressed my palm to the glass wall, peered down at the gallery below. At first, I saw nothing. But then a shape moved—subtle, a smudge of deeper black drifting between the unfinished walls. It was walking. It stopped by a canvas, leaned in as if to study the work, then melted into the gloom.
“Fuck this,” I whispered and started for the stairs.
But as I reached the top step, the voice came again, right behind my ear. This time, it was perfectly clear.
“Soon.”
I turned, heart in my throat, and for a second I thought I saw a shadow stretched against the glass wall. Not a person, not a thing—but the absence of both. My stomach cramped. My wolf shrank into the smallest, coldest place inside me.
I stumbled down the stairs, every step jarring my teeth. The gallery was empty, silent except for the wild percussion of rain on the roof. I forced myself to walk the perimeter, check every exit, every room, every broom closet. Nothing. Not even a hint of footprints on the mats.
When I got back to the office, Irealized I’d left my phone behind. I grabbed it off the desk, and as I did, I caught sight of my forearm—streaked with a black smear, like soot or ash. I wiped it on my shirt, and it disappeared. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined it, if this was all just a side effect of too much caffeine and not enough sleep.
But the terror wouldn’t leave.
I sat back down, breathing slow, trying to steady my pulse. The rain outside sounded like it was trying to carve its way into the building. My hands shook as I checked the laptop—everything normal, no sign of the flicker, no weird cursor movement. The spreadsheet was right where I’d left it, my name highlighted in calm, professional blue.
I looked out the glass wall again. The gallery was as it should be. Empty. Still.
But I knew I wasn’t alone.
My first instinct was to call Gunner, to hear his voice, to let it anchor me back to reality. But I couldn’t bear the thought of him hearing the fear in mine.
Instead, I typed out a text:You coming soon?
A minute later, he replied:Wasn’t planning to come for a couple hours. You okay?
I looked at the empty gallery, the storm outside, the glass that could shatter with the right pressure.
I typed:I just miss you.
He sent back a heart emoji, then:I’ll head over now. Lock the doors. Don’t open for anyone but me.
I watched the dots pulse in the reply field, his presence almost a force in itself. My wolf uncurled a little, enough for me to breathe.
I shut the laptop, wiped my hands on my jeans, and turned on every light in the gallery.
Outside, the thunder came closer, rolling in like a tide.
Whatever was out there, I knew it would find me.
