She tries to scream, but all that comes out is a muffled gasp against his palm.
Her body thrashes instinctively—elbows jerking, legs trying to brace—but he's stronger. Much stronger. Her grocery items crash to the floor beside her feet: the chicken nuggets skidding across the concrete, the noodles rolling slowly away like a forgotten afterthought.
Her heart slams against her ribs.
What's happening?
She claws at his hand, her nails digging, but it's like trying to tear through wood. Her lungs start to burn. Her muscles scream for oxygen.
And then she hears him.
Close to her ear. So close his breath grazes her temple.
"I told you there were more things, Grace."
Her blood goes cold.
That voice. That warm, velvety voice. The one she'd thought was familiar. Safe.
Now it cuts through her like a blade wrapped in silk.
She gasps again, her voice a whisper of a whisper, barely audible through his grip.
"How… how…"
But her strength is gone.
Her knees give out first. Then her arms. Then the rest of her.
Everything slows. Fades.
The last thing she hears is the sound of his breathing behind her.
Steady. Measured. Like he's done this before.
And then—
Nothing.
Julian parks the car in a dim corner of the underground lot and shuts off the engine. For a moment, he sits in silence, gripping the steering wheel. Then he exhales slowly, runs a hand through his hair, and steps out.
The building rises like a shadow above him—plain and quiet. He finds the elevator and presses the button. The metallic doors slide open with a hiss, and he steps inside, watching the numbers tick upward.
Fourth floor.
When the doors open, he walks briskly into the hallway. His footsteps echo faintly against the walls. The hallway smells faintly of ramen and old paint. Room 405 stands at the far end. He stops in front of it and presses the doorbell once.
A few seconds pass.
Then a voice calls out through the intercom speaker. "Who is this?"
"This is Julian Lenter. I called earlier."
A beat of silence and then, "Oh, right. Just a sec."
Julian waits. He can hear faint movement inside—shuffling, a door unlocking.
The door opens.
A man in a loose-fitting hoodie greets him with a nod. He looks younger than Julian expected, maybe in his early thirties. His hair's a mess, and there's a hint of sleeplessness in his eyes.
"Come in," the man says.
Julian steps inside and takes in the room.
It's a one-room studio, dimly lit, saturated in bluish LED light. The blinds are drawn. The hum of electronics fills the air. It's the complete opposite of Julian's bright, carefully curated home, which feels like a page from an antique catalog.
Here, chaos lives and breathes.
The man drops into a worn-out gaming chair in front of a monstrous desk setup—four curved monitors forming a semicircle around him. He swivels to face Julian and gestures to a chair nearby.
"You can sit."
Julian nods and takes the seat. He doesn't bother with small talk.
"So," the man begins, leaning back, fingers loosely interlaced behind his head, "who's the person you want to track down?"
Julian's voice is calm but sharp. "The one who first uploaded this photo on the school's community forum."
The man leans forward, intrigued. "Can you type in the school's site?"
Julian nods, leaning toward the keyboard. He types quickly and efficiently, pulling up the site's main page.
"Great," the man says, taking control of the mouse. "Let's see…"
He navigates to the free posting section and begins scrolling.
The screen floods with headlines.
Scandalous. Accusatory. Blunt.
They go on and on.
The man chuckles dryly as he says, "Well, you're right in the middle of a wildfire."
Julian doesn't even flinch.
It's not funny. Not to him.
He stares at the screen, his jaw clenched. His thoughts circle around one truth: if someone's been following Grace, if someone uploaded that photo with intent to harm her reputation—or worse—then it's not just some online scandal.
It's a threat.
And he's not going to let that stand.
He turns to the man beside him, his voice low and even. "Can you find out who posted it first?"
The man tilts his head, studying Julian for a beat. Then he nods, already opening new windows and lines of code.
"Let's see what we can dig up."
Now, sitting in this dim studio, Julian's instincts buzz in his chest like static. The room feels like another world—blue LED lights glowing under the desk, towers humming, cables like roots spilling across the floor. A stark contrast to the minimal, sunlit spaces of his own home. This place feels like secrecy incarnate.
Julian adjusts his black-rimmed glasses and watches the man behind the desk, a whirlwind of motion.
"Do you think you can find the man who uploaded it first?" he asks.
The hacker-type doesn't even pause.
"Of course." His voice is calm but self-assured. "Give me an hour, tops. Just relax on the sofa. It'll be done before you even start to worry."
Julian offers a quick nod of thanks.
He walks to the worn, navy-blue sofa by the window—its fabric threadbare at the corners, its springs slightly uneven. He sits, his back stiff, and turns to watch the man at work.
It's mesmerizing.
The guy types like a man possessed—fingers a blur, screens flashing with code, tabs opening and closing faster than Julian can track. His face is blank with focus, lit eerily by the glow of the monitors. He looks young—twenty-something—but carries the calm intensity of someone who's done this hundreds of times.
Julian's thoughts flicker to Grace.
Her face.
The panic in her voice the last time they spoke.
I need to find this man. I need to make sure she's safe.
Time bends in that room. Julian can't tell if it's been twenty minutes or forty when the man suddenly leans back in his chair with a low exhale and turns toward him.
"Sir," he says, with the air of someone who's just completed a masterpiece, "the work is done."
Julian's eyes widen. He's up from the sofa in a second, walking swiftly to the desk.
"Already? That was fast."
The guy chuckles.
"Told you. I do this a lot."
He walks to the small printer on the corner shelf and waits a moment as a single sheet emerges. He pulls it out and hands it to Julian with a flourish, like a magician revealing the final card.
Julian reads it.
Age: 29
Address: L Bingo District, Florence Apartment, Unit 309
Phone Number: [Redacted]
Known Activity: Uploads to multiple student community platforms, suspected pattern of targeting specific individuals>
Julian slowly lowers the page, a chill crawling down his spine.
"…You're incredible," he mutters. "I'll transfer the money now."
He takes out his phone and, within seconds, confirms the payment.
"Thank you again," Julian says, already turning toward the door, the paper gripped tightly in his hand.
"Pleasure doing business," the man replies, sinking back into his chair, already opening a new terminal window.
Julian exits into the hallway like a man with a mission. The elevator ride to the basement parking garage is silent except for the quiet thud of his heartbeat in his ears.
Inside his car, Julian throws the document on the passenger seat and pulls out his phone again. Grace's name is already on the screen.
It's time.
He presses Ring.
Ring.
No answer.
His grip on the steering wheel tightens.
The ringtone ends. Straight to voicemail.
He opens a text instead.
But he stops.
What if the stalker has access to her messages? What if he's already compromised her phone?
Julian deletes the message entirely.
He calls again. This time he waits more than a minute. Still nothing.
Something's wrong.
He can't explain it. It's not logical, not based on evidence. But deep in his gut, something tells him this silence is wrong.
He opens his student app, finds the list of classmates, and quickly searches for Harry.
This time, the response is quick—barely two rings before the line clicks open.
"Hello?" comes Harry's voice, low and a little unsure.
"Hi, Harry," Julian says, his voice steady but edged with urgency. "It's Julian."
There's a pause.
"Oh—uh, hello."
There's a pause on the line, thick and heavy. Harry sounds surprised—caught off guard by the sudden call from Professor Julian.
"Oh, hey, Professor Julian," Harry says, his voice hesitant. "I don't even have your number saved. Didn't expect a call from you. What's going on? Did I mess up on the assignment or something?"
Julian's voice lowers, steady but tense. "No, it's not about the course. Are you with Grace Silver right now?"
"Grace? No, I'm not. Why?"
Julian hesitates, the words hard to say.
"She's not answering her phone. I thought maybe you were with her."
The silence on the other end feels heavier. Julian can almost hear Harry wondering why he's calling about Grace at all.
"Harry, what's going on? Can you tell me?" His voice carries real concern.
Julian takes a deep breath.
"There's a stalker. Following Grace. He's the one who took that photo at the hotel and posted it online. I was going to tell Grace myself, but she's not picking up."
Harry catches his breath.
"Send me what you have. I'll try to reach her and pass the info along."
"Okay. Sending now."
The call ends, but Julian's heart races. He types the message fast, urgency tightening every muscle.