My pulse stutters. Maybe it’s someone waiting for a cab. Or maybe it’s just a reflection of something else, something off.
But then—
He takes a step forward.
Slow. Purposeful.
The automatic glass doors stay locked after 6 PM, but I move, anyway—fast—toward the light switch, flipping off everything but the hallway emergency bulbs. The banking floor drops into shadow.
I duck behind the partition by the teller line, crouching low as I peek through the narrow vertical slit in the blinds.
He’s still there.
Not moving. Not shifting.
Juststanding.
I can’t see his face; the shadows outside are too thick, but his frame is hard to miss. He’s big. Wearing a dark jacket over a white shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows. Slacks. Leather shoes that look too expensive for a guy who’s not doing anything but loitering.
He’s not scrolling on a phone. Not checking his watch. Not pacing like he’s waiting for someone.
He’s just… watching.
Facing the glass.
Facingme.
Oh, my God.
The chill that races down my spine has nothing to do with the air conditioning. It feels like something cold and damp is dragging its nails across my back, pressing into every bone. My stomach twists. The Chinese takeout I was fantasizing about ten minutes ago now feels like a distant hallucination.
I’ve stayed late at this branch plenty of times, and nothing’s ever felt like this. Like something’soff.
My hand moves before my brain catches up—instinct driving me as I reach down, fumbling through the bottom of my bag for my phone. Lip balm, receipts, a crumpled protein bar wrapper—Where the hell is it?
My fingers close around the case just as—
BANG.
A loud, suddenthudcracks against the glass doors.
I scream. Actually scream.
The phone clatters to the floor as I jerk upright, slamming my elbow into the side of the partition. My heart punches my ribs like it’s trying to escape, and I’mthis closeto peeing myself.
Eyes wide, I look up.
But he’s gone.
No shadow. No silhouette. Nothing but a smear of condensation on the outside of the glass.
And then—movement.
Someone slumps against the outer wall, just out of range of the door sensors. A guy in a stained hoodie and mismatched sneakers, sliding down to the sidewalk with a groan and a plastic bottle in his hand. One of the local drunks, muttering to himself as he sags against the bricks like gravity finally won the fight.
I stay frozen for another ten seconds. Maybe more.
Still no sign of the man in the jacket.
