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I'm halfway down one of the long stone corridors when I hear footsteps behind me, soft enough to almost disappear beneath the echo of my own but steady enough to make my heartbeat lurch painfully against my ribs.

I glance back, already expecting the corridor to be empty. It usually is. But I stopped trusting usually a long time ago. Back home, the hallway stayed empty right up until the night it didn't, and I never saw the difference coming. That's what fear does to you once it's been right before. It turns every empty hallway into something threatening, every shadow into a warning.

But the feeling doesn't leave.

Someone is still there behind me. Far enough away not to be obvious. Close enough that my body already knows before my mind does, dragging me back to that night in the library when I could have sworn somebody was watching me between the shelves.

Am I losing my mind? Or is someone actually following me?

I walk faster.

The footsteps behind me speed up too.

"It's nothing," I whisper under my breath, trying to steady my breathing as I push farther down the passageway, my heartbeat already climbing too high, too fast. "It's nothing. You're fine."

But my body doesn't believe me.

My pulse spikes beneath the medical band wrapped around my wrist as panic crawls high into my throat, sharp enough now that I can hear my own breathing echoing off the stone walls around me.

I fumble for my multi-slate as I walk and open Damaris's messages again. I almost call him before stopping myself at the last second and typing instead.

Are you back yet?

The message sends, but when I check again a few seconds later, there's still no reply.

Of course not.

But I can't think clearly anymore, not with the footsteps still echoing somewhere behind me.

I walk faster. Then faster again.

This is ridiculous. I'm panicking over nothing. I'm tired and overwhelmed and letting my imagination get away from me after weeks of stress and too little sleep and Ciaran getting inside my head.

But before I can even finish the thought, my thumb is already pressing his contact.

The call barely rings once before he picks up.

"Oh?" His voice is rough with amusement. "You finally ready to ask properly, little mouse?"

"Ciaran."

He must hear the panic in my voice, because his tone sharpens. "What is it?"

"Someone's following me," I whisper. "I think I'm near the library, but I'm not sure."

"Someone's doing what?"

"I think someone's following me."

"Where the fuck are you? Who is it?"

"I don't know."

Muffled voices erupt through the speaker. A chair scrapes back. Someone swears.

"Move," Ciaran barks at somebody. "Get Rafe. Now."

More movement. Footsteps. A door slams.