It’s just someone going to their car. People work late. It’s normal.
But they weren’t moving. Weren’t walking past. Just...watching.
She couldn’t see their face, couldn’t make out any features in the bad lighting. But she couldfeeltheir attention on her like a physical weight.
The figure took a step forward.
Then another.
Moving toward her car with slow, deliberate steps.
Terror slammed into Nora. Pure, primal fear that obliterated every rational thought.
She grabbed her laptop bag and phone, fumbled for the door handle, and burst out of the car. Her heel caught on the concrete and she stumbled, catching herself on the hood.
“Hey!” a voice called out behind her. Male. Unfamiliar. “Wait—”
She didn’t wait.
She ran.
Her heels weren’t made for running but she didn’t care. Nora sprinted toward the garage exit, bag bouncing against her hip, phone clutched in her fist. Her breaths came in ragged gasps that echoed off the concrete walls.
Footsteps behind her. Getting closer.
“Please, I just want to—”
Nora didn’t let him finish. Didn’t look back.
The exit stairwell loomed ahead—twenty feet,fifteen, ten—
Her heel caught again, and this time, she went down, laptop bag flying from her grip, phone skittering across the concrete. Pain exploded in her palms and knees as she hit the ground hard.
“No!” Nora scrambled forward on her hands and knees, reaching for her phone.
The footsteps stopped right behind her.
She grabbed her phone and spun around, pressing herself back against a concrete pillar, holding the phone up like a weapon, even though her hands shook so badly she could barely grip it.
The figure stood there, maybe ten feet away, hands raised.
But the lighting was wrong, shadows falling across their face. Nora couldn’t see. Couldn’t identify them. Could only feel her heart trying to jackhammer its way out of her chest.
“I’m calling the police,” she managed, voice cracking. “Right now. I’m calling—”
“Okay, okay!” The figure backed up a step. “I’m going. Jesus.”
They turned and walked quickly back into the shadows between the rows of cars. A moment later, Nora heard an engine start, saw headlights sweep across the garage ceiling. A dark sedan—she couldn’t make out the model—drove past her toward the exit ramp and disappeared.
She sat there against the pillar, shaking violently, struggling to breathe.
What just happened?
Maybe it really was someone just trying to help. Maybe they saw her car wouldn’t start and were trying to be nice.
But then why did every instinct in her body scream danger? Why did Nora still feel like she needed to run?
She pulled herself up on shaking legs. Her palms were scraped and bleeding, her knees throbbing. One heel had snapped off her shoe.
