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“No.” She tightens her grip on the tablet tucked to her chest. "This isn’t about stats.” She tucks a piece of dark hair behindher ear and glances over her shoulder. “Can we talk somewhere quiet?"

“Sure. Lead the way.”

She takes me around the back of the building, where there’s a cement bench half-eaten by ivy and the hum of generators in the walls.

She taps the edge of her tablet. “You host the radio show on WXFU.”

So this really isn’t about statistics. “Yep.”

“I listen sometimes, when I’m working in the lab. There are times coffee isn’t enough.”

“I hope it helps.”

She laughs, showing her white, straight teeth. “Well, your taste in music is shit, but there are other things I find interesting.” Again, she looks nervous. “You know, some of the chatter in between.”

I talk a lot during my show–probably more there than I do at any other time of the day. I bullshit and bluster, gossip and report, but I have a feeling she’s talking about something else. Something more recent. “You mean the part where I call out the fact that girls keep disappearing and nobody seems to give a damn?”

She nods, but those shoulders don’t loosen. “Do you believe in patterns?”

I angle toward her. “I’m an engineering major. Of course.”

She swallows. “Three weeks ago, someone followed me home from a bar.”

I go still.

“Some guy I didn’t know bought me a drink. I didn’t touch it. Something felt off. I went outside to call a rideshare. He came out five minutes later. No jacket. No phone. Just followed me down the street like he was out for a walk.”

“Did you get a good look at him?”

She shakes her head. “Baseball cap. Average face. Could have been any frat boy on campus.”

“What happened next?”

“I found two girls waiting on a car and asked them if I could join in. No one asked why.” A shiver runs up her spine. “Everyone on campus is taking extra precautions right now. So yeah, I got home safe, but after that I started getting DMs.”

She pulls out her phone and shows me.

Anonymous accounts. Blank profile pictures. Messages like:

“You looked beautiful in blue.”

“I like how your hair smells.”

“Working late again tonight, Sofia?”

I clench my jaw. “You report this?”

She scoffs. “Campus security said to walk with a friend and change my password. Cops told me unless he touched me, their hands were tied.”

“Fuck.” I rub my temples. “That’s scary. I get it. But I’m not sure it’s enough to make the connection. We haven’t heard of any evidence of repeated stalking or harassment.”

Her jaw tightens. “So you don’t believe me. You think I’m lying? Looking for attention or something?” She rises. “I knew this was a bad idea.”

“Shit,” I say quickly, grabbing her forearm and dragging her back down. “I believe you have some creepy fucker watching you and sending you messages. It’s not that.”

“Then what?” she asks, glaring. Hurt.

“You asked about patterns. I’m not sure that’s a pattern. If anything, it feels really different. Like maybe you’ve really got a stalker following you around. Someone interested in you, specifically.”