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I move like someone trying not to be seen, even though I’m alone. My coat falls onto the back of a chair. My shoes land near the door with none of their usual clatter. My phone buzzes against the table where I left it earlier, and I jump.

It’s just a message from Blair, asking if I made it back okay. I start to type something reassuring and stop halfway through. My hand lowers, the screen still glowing. And beneath the message thread, I see the others. The older ones. The ones I should have deleted but didn’t.

You’re so easy to follow, baby girl. Did you think I wouldn’t know where you are?

I stare at the words until they blur.

All the warmth from lunch, from Drew’s easy laughter and Blair’s gentle teasing, drains from my body like someone opened a valve. I slide down onto the couch without meaning to, my knees pulled to my chest, the phone clutched between my hands like it might morph into a weapon or a shield depending on how hard I hold on.

I want to believe it’s a coincidence. That maybe he was just passing through. That maybe he didn’t see me at all. But I knowbetter. Daniel never does anything halfway. If he showed his face today, it was intentional.

He wanted me to see him. He wanted me to remember that he’s always a step behind, never fully gone, always circling.

My breathing picks up again. I press a palm flat against my chest, trying to ground myself. But the weight of it is too much, too fast, and for the first time in days, I feel that horrible ripple of panic rise through me without mercy.

I stand. I pace. I try to tell myself that this doesn’t change anything, but it does. It changes everything.

I know what I should do. I should call the police. I should report the sighting, give them every message he’s sent, beg them to take this seriously. But I also know how this game is played. Daniel has money. Influence. Friends in all the right places. A long history of making women feel crazy before the system finally listens.

They’ll need proof. And I don’t have any. Just texts from a blocked number and a name I’m too scared to say out loud. I stare at my phone again, thumb hovering over a different name. A different number.

Ethan. He wouldn’t ask for proof. He wouldn’t wait.

I shake my head, willing the thought away. I can’t call him. I can’t drag him back into this. It’s dangerous, and not just for me. If Daniel suspects Ethan means anything to me, it won’t end with threats. He’ll twist it into something darker. He’ll find a way to punish him.

Still, I don’t move. My thumb is frozen over the screen, caught between fear and need.

For one fragile second, I close my eyes and imagine what Ethan would say if he were here. He wouldn’t let me downplay this. He’d see through every lie I tried to tell. And he’d be furious that I didn’t call him sooner. My hand tightens around the phone.

I don’t want to pull him into this storm. But the storm is already here.

And I might not have a choice anymore.

14

ETHAN

Just after noon, when the sky is a washed-out silver and the city outside my window resonates with the usual midweek churn, I get a call from Ivy. I answer without hesitation, barely letting it ring once. “Ivy.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Not the kind that means she’s distracted or busy or weighing how to respond. This is the kind of silence that says everything’s wrong and she doesn’t know where to start. I sit forward, elbow braced on my knee, eyes on the skyline but not really seeing it.

Her voice finally comes through. “Are you busy?”

It’s the tone that gets me. Flat, like she’s rehearsing it. A layer of control that doesn’t belong there. Ivy’s never been good at hiding what she feels. “I can talk,” I say carefully, trying not to give away the shift in my pulse. “What’s going on?”

She hesitates again. I hear the soft hitch in her breath, like she’s fighting not to say something real.

“Can we talk later? In person?”

My knuckles tighten around the edge of the desk. I don’t like the way she sounds. I don’t like that I can hear the effort it’s taking her just to stay composed.

“Where are you?”

“At the apartment.”

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

She makes a small sound—acknowledgment, maybe—but she doesn’t argue. That alone tells me what I need to know.