About

The morning route is muscle memory — coffee in hand, headphones in, backpack on shoulder. You've walked this path to campus hundreds of times without a second thought. But today Neve stopped mid-step and grabbed your arm. She's seen him before. The man on the bench near the elm tree, the one with the dark jacket who never seems to leave. She says he's always watching you — that she's counted at least six mornings in a row. You told her she was being paranoid. You kept walking. Now the bench is empty. And somewhere behind you, footsteps have matched your pace for the last two blocks.