Who were these people? Why were they at the demolition site? Judging by their demeanor and positioning, they seemed to be secretly monitoring the situation's development. Their expensive, pristine clothing stood in stark contrast to the chaotic scene around them.
I flipped through other photos and found these men appearing from different angles, apparently deliberately avoiding other reporters' cameras. This intentional concealment deepened my suspicions.
A bad feeling grew in my chest. As an experienced reporter, I instinctively sensed something unknown might be lurking beneath the surface. Could this involve government-business collusion? Illegal profit transfers? My professional instincts wouldn't let me ignore these anomalies.
But then I tried to reassure myself. Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe they were just passing businessmen or had some other innocent explanation. And even if there was something sinister, they might not have noticed my photography. I tried suppressing the growing unease.
I saved these photos separately, clinging to hope. Maybe nothing would come of this. I decided not to report this discovery to my editor yet—after all, this was still just speculation without solid evidence.
Walking home from work, I found myself increasingly paranoid. The evening streets seemed longer and darker than usual. I quickened my pace, eager to get home, back to that little sanctuary that was just beginning to feel safe.
Every time someone passed behind me, I'd instinctively look back. Every set of footsteps made me wonder if someone was following me. My senses became abnormally acute—every tiny sound made me jump. I knew this might just be excessive nervousness, but that man's piercing gaze from the photos kept haunting my thoughts.
"Stop overthinking, Anna," I told myself. "You're just being paranoid." But this self-comfort felt hollow on the empty street. The unease clung to me like a shadow.
When I turned a corner, I clearly heard footsteps behind me. I deliberately slowed down—the footsteps slowed too. I sped up—they matched my pace. Fear began coiling around my heart.
My pulse quickened. I casually glanced back and saw a man in a baseball cap about ten meters behind me. When our eyes met, he immediately looked down, pulling his brim lower.
Terror shot through me. I couldn't confirm if this was related to today's demolition site, but instinct told me this wasn't a coincidence.
I started jogging, then running faster and faster. The footsteps behind me grew more urgent. I could feel my breathing becoming labored, cold sweat breaking out on my palms. The house lights lining the street seemed to mock my panic.
I turned several corners and finally saw the familiar glow of home. I practically threw myself through the front door, slamming it shut and leaning against it, gasping for air, my legs weak with relief. The return of safety nearly made me collapse.
"Anna?" Alexander's voice came from the living room. "You're back?"
Hearing his voice, I instantly felt secure. I took several deep breaths, trying to calm my emotions. I couldn't let him and Sofia see my panic.
He appeared in the hallway, took one look at my condition, and immediately frowned. "What's wrong? You look pale."
I hesitated. Should I tell him? But if I shared what I'd discovered today, would he get dragged into danger? And maybe it really was just my imagination. I didn't want to shatter this newly established peace.
"Nothing," I forced a smile. "Just tired from work. Where's Sofia?"
Alexander clearly didn't believe me, but he didn't press. "She's in the living room drawing. She was very well-behaved today—we even made cookies together."
"Really?" I tried to make my voice sound normal. "Letme go see her."
When I saw Sofia sitting safely in the living room, absorbed in her drawing, the fear in my chest finally began to ease. Alexander stood behind me, maintaining an appropriate distance, but his hand lightly touched my back—a brief, comforting gesture.
"Mommy, look what I drew," Sofia excitedly held up her paper, showing three stick figures. "This is you, this is Alex, this is me. We're all together."
I kissed her forehead softly. "It's beautiful, sweetheart."
Maybe I really was overthinking everything. Maybe nothing would happen. I tried convincing myself this was just paranoia from a stressful workday.
But when I unconsciously glanced toward the window, I saw a black sedan parked across the street that hadn't been there before. Its windows were heavily tinted—I couldn't tell if anyone was inside.
That uneasy feeling came rushing back.
I drew the curtains, trying to block out this disturbing sight. Alexander noticed my action and gave me a questioning look. I shook my head slightly, indicating it was nothing.
I hoped everything was just my imagination.
Chapter Sixteen
Alexander
