“No.” I shake my head quickly. “Not you.”
Not exactly, anyway. I know he probably has men somewhere that I can’t see.
He steps back half a pace, as if putting more space between us will help. It does, and yet it doesn’t.
“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “I wouldn’t want you afraid of me.”
The statement should relax me. It doesn’t. It feels… deliberate. Like a reassurance shaped by someone who knows exactly how to speak to fear.
There’s something about him that draws me in despite everything. Something familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible. A presence that feels like an echo I’ve been sensing for days.
“I should get going,” I say, suddenly aware of how long I’ve been standing here with him.
He nods. “Stay safe, Eden.”
The simple words carry a strange weight. Protective. Firm. Almost possessive.
I take a breath, give him a small, awkward smile, and turn down the next street. My steps feel uneven, too quick. The back of my neck prickles again, but this time I know exactly what it is.
I glance over my shoulder.
Simon stands where I left him, hands in his coat pockets, gaze fixed on me with an intensity that pins me in place even from half a block away. He doesn’t move. He doesn’t call after me. He just watches.
Nothing about the moment feels accidental.
I force myself to turn away and keep walking, but my thoughts spin relentlessly, tangled between caution and curiosity.
Simon seems polite enough—respectful, even—but there’s a darkness in him that I can’t ignore. A sharp edge beneath the calm. A sense of control that radiates off him in waves.
The farther I walk, the more conflicted I become. Something about him scares me in a way that feels almost… personal. Part of me keeps replaying the way he said my name, like he was testing it, claiming it, memorizing it.
I try to steady my breathing, but the tension coils tighter with every step.
Something is happening. Something I don’t understand. And Simon is at the center of it.
The sun slips behind the buildings earlier than usual, leaving the streets washed in dusky blue. I shouldn’t still be out, but the library kept me late, and the walk home is supposed to be familiar by now. Safe enough. Predictable.
Except nothing has felt predictable for days.
Halfway down the block, the prickling sensation returns—stronger this time, so sharp it pulls the breath right out of mychest. My steps falter. The street is quieter than it should be, only two restaurants open, their neon signs flickering weakly. The sidewalks feel emptier too, like the city exhaled and forgot to inhale again.
I keep walking, pretending I don’t feel heat crawling up my spine.
Then I hear it, a footstep behind me.
My pulse kicks hard. I clutch my bag and quicken my pace, heart thudding so loudly I’m convinced it echoes off the buildings. I reach the next intersection; it’s dimly lit, one streetlight broken, the glow from a convenience store barely stretching past its doorway.
I turn the corner, hoping to blend in, but the presence follows. I feel it more than I hear it now, a weight closing in on me. Panic tightens around my ribs.
The alley I pass is darker than it should be. The kind of dark that feels crowded with danger even when empty. I move faster, almost jogging, breath shallow.
A shape detaches from the shadows.
I gasp, stumbling backward. The man steps closer—not quite approaching, but close enough that his outline sharpens into something real, something menacing. He’s tall, hoodie pulled low, hands tucked into his sleeves. Watching me.
My throat closes. I can’t turn left without stepping into the alley. I can’t turn right without brushing past him. I can’t go back because someone is still behind me.
My fingers shake as I reach for my phone.
