“He’s circling,” Ethan says.
My pulse spikes. “Circling what?”
“You.”
The word hits like a blow.
I shake my head immediately. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does if you’re the target.”
“I am the target,” I snap. “I know that.”
“Then stop pretending this is random.”
I step closer, frustration rising. “I’m not pretending anything.”
“You are,” he says, turning to face me. “You’re acting like this is bad luck, like you just ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And it’s not?”
His gaze locks on mine. “No.”
The silence stretches between us, tight and charged.
“What are you saying?” I ask, quieter now.
He studies me for a second, long enough that my skin feels too tight. “This isn’t someone who stumbled across you,” he says. “This is someone who knows you.”
My stomach drops.
“No,” I shake my head. “That’s not—no.”
“You said the photos weren’t random.”
“They’re not.”
“Then neither is this.”
I step back, shaking my head harder. “I don’t know anyone here.”
“Doesn’t have to be here.”
The words settle heavy in my chest, pulling something up I don’t want to look at.
“No,” I say again. “This is just some creep who?—”
“Who what?” Ethan cuts in. “Picked you at random? Followed you into the mountains for no reason?”
I don’t answer, because I don’t have one, because something cold and sharp is starting to take shape inside me.
“You left something behind,” he says.
I look up at him. “What?”
“Back wherever you came from,” he continues. “Someone. Something.”
My throat tightens. “I didn’t?—”
