Elena started sleeping with the lights on.
She told her roommate it was because of the nightmares—half-truths, really.
The real nightmare didn't live in her sleep. It waited for her in the spaces between moments.
In the silence between footsteps.
In the eyes she couldn't quite find in the crowd.
In the feeling of being known… completely.
She woke one morning to the smell of her favorite perfume.
Only, she hadn't sprayed it.
Her bottle was still capped. Still tucked behind the mirror.
She turned slowly, heart pounding.
There was a fresh rose on her desk. Blood-red. Dew still clinging to its petals.
And beside it, a photograph.
Her.
Sleeping.
Her hands trembled as she picked it up. It was real. Glossy. A small crease at the edge.
She turned it over.
Nothing written.
Just the emptiness of knowing—he'd been there.
Inside.
Her door was locked. Always locked.
Wasn't it?
At school, she felt the walls closing in. Not with fear—but with awareness. She knew when she was being watched now. Her skin tingled with it. Her spine stiffened under it.
She walked faster between buildings, never ran. Running would make it real.
That day, Liam waved her over during lunch.
"Elena," he said, concern heavy in his voice. "You're different. Something's off. Is someone bothering you?"
She looked at him.
He looked tired. Maybe worried. But something inside her recoiled—not from Liam, but from the distance it created.
She barely heard his words.
All she could hear was the memory of another voice—quiet, dark, close.
"He doesn't care about your safety. I do."
She shook her head. "I'm fine."
He didn't believe her.
Later that evening, as dusk poured shadows across her apartment, she found a note on her windowsill.
"You're safer when you listen."
There was no signature.
There never was.
She should've felt afraid. Maybe she did.
But deeper than fear… something else was blooming.
Dependence.
She didn't want to admit it—but she waited for him now.
Every glance behind her. Every whisper of wind. Every time she walked alone, she hoped… he would be there.
She stepped out to the balcony with her tea, watching the street below. Quiet. Normal.
Then her eyes caught a movement on the rooftop across from hers.
A tall figure. Still as stone.
She didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Just raised the cup to her lips and took a slow sip.
He was watching.
He wanted her to know.
And for reasons she didn't understand, it made her feel… safe.