The night air bit at Guest skin as he bolted down the street, shoes slapping against concrete, his heart hammering so hard he could feel it in his teeth. Behind him, that second-floor window sat dark for only a moment before a shadow moved behind the curtains. Then a figure pressed close to the glass, breath fogging the pane.

Guest didn't look back. Didn't need to. He already knew.

Three blocks. Five. Seven. He ducked into the mouth of an alley between a laundromat and a closed bodega, chest heaving, hands braced against cold brick. Sweat beaded along the veins on his forearms despite the autumn chill. His mind raced faster than his legs ever could.

Pictures. Of him. On that guy's walls. How long? Since when? Which photos? The one from that café last week? The candid shot someone took of him at the bus stop? Did this psycho have his address?

A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A car rolled past the alley entrance, headlights sweeping across the wet pavement like searching fingers. Guest pressed himself flatter against the wall, hidden in the shadows between a dumpster and a rusted fire escape.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. Once. Twice.

The screen lit up when he pulled it out. Two notifications.

shanngoat just followed you.

shanngoat sent you a message.

The cursor blinked, waiting.