My stomach dropped.
I stared at the screen.
My fingers hovered, numb.
Why?I typed.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.
Finally:
Amaya:Because Paris is nearer than you think.
I walked to the door and pressed my palm against it, as if I could feel through the wood whether something waited on the other side. The apartment was silent. The hall outside was silent.
But my body didn’t believe silence meant safety anymore.
I moved to the window and looked down at the street.
Nothing.
Just lamplight, wet stone, the faint blur of a couple walking too close together.
My breath eased slightly.
And then, across the street, in the dark glass of a shop window, I saw a reflection that didn’t belong.
A man.
Not close enough to see details. Not close enough to be sure.
But my body knew the shape of him the way it knew the sound of my own name when he’d said it.
My throat tightened.
I held my breath, staring, trying to make the reflection hold still long enough to confirm what my instincts were already screaming.
Then the figure moved, disappearing into the darkness like he’d never been there at all.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
I stood at the window, shaking, my mind caught between fear and something that felt dangerously like anticipation.
If it was him—if Connor was out there—what did that mean?
Was he watching me?
Protecting me?
Or was he simply … unable to stop?
The worst part was the truth I couldn’t deny, even alone in my apartment with my door locked and chained.
Somewhere under the fear, under the uncertainty, under the warning texts and the shadows?—
I wanted him to come closer.
I wanted to know what would happen if he did.
