The evening breeze brushed against my skin as I reached the front door. I slid the key into the lock, but something made me pause. That quiet prickle at the back of my neck. The kind you feel when you know eyes are on you even before you turn to check.
Slowly, I turned.
Across the street, a dark car sat under the shadow of an old tree. The headlights were off, but the silhouette of someone behind the wheel was clear. Still. Unmoving. Watching. Not shifting their gaze. Not pretending to look away. Just watching.
My breath caught for a moment, tightening in a way I could not explain. My fingers trembled slightly as I pushed the key in and turned it. I opened the door quickly and stepped inside, closing it behind me with more urgency than I intended.
The moment the lock clicked, my stepmother rushed from the living room, wiping her hands on a napkin as though she had been preparing to clean something. She stopped when she saw my face.
"Esme… are you alright?" she asked, her brows narrowing with concern.
I nodded even though the uneasiness still lingered in my chest. "I am fine. I just… I thought someone was following me back home."
Her expression changed instantly. A flicker of fear. Then worry. Then something like confirmation, as though she had been expecting me to say exactly that.
"You noticed them too?" she asked softly.
For a moment, my heart forgot how to beat.
"You saw them?" I whispered.
She nodded, her eyes drifting toward the window as if the presence outside still lingered there. "They parked there about ten minutes before you arrived. They did not step out. They did not knock. They only watched the house."
The room suddenly felt smaller. Shrunken. Like the shadows on the walls had ears and the silence itself was listening. I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the sensation of something heavy settling on my shoulders.
"Did you see their face?" I asked, even though a part of me already feared the answer.
"No," she said quietly. "But the way they stared… Esme, it was not normal."
I felt my fingers curl around the strap of my bag. My body was tense, alert, as though danger had stepped into the house with me. Everything happening around me seemed too close, too sharp. The text Ethan's mother sent earlier still sat unanswered on my phone. The scene at the swimming pool was still replaying in my mind. And now this. Someone watching the house. Someone following me.
My stepmother stepped closer and placed her hand gently on my arm, her eyes searching mine. "Esme… is there anything you want to tell me?"
Within me, there were so many things I wanted to tell her. At least the part where I saved a girl's life at the pool. How she collapsed near the edge and how I had helped steady her until she breathed again. That alone was enough story. But for some strange reason, every story disappeared from my mouth the moment I opened it. My lips parted, closed again, parted once more. But no words came. They just died before reaching my throat.
My hand moved on its own. I brought out my phone and typed the only words that made sense to my frightened heart. The only person my mind always ran to.
It seems we are in danger Ethan. There is a spy.
The moment I tapped send, I exhaled sharply, as though the message had carried away some of the weight sitting too heavily on my chest. My heartbeat thudded in my ears, each pulse loud and trembling with fear.
I turned slowly to my stepmother. "Do not worry, Mummy," I whispered, forcing calm into my voice. "We are saved."
She did not believe that immediately. I saw it in the way her eyes lingered on me, searching for reassurance she was not finding. In the way her fingers tightened around her wrapper as she walked toward the window.
"Are you sure, Esme?" she asked, her voice calm but layered with fear.
I stepped beside her. Together, we lifted the curtain slightly and looked out into the quiet street.
For a moment, the world looked normal. Just the night breeze brushing the leaves. The dim glow of streetlights on empty pavement.
Then we saw it.
The car.
The same dark shape.
The same silent presence.
It sat there unmoving, almost as though it was waiting for some invisible signal. Then, slowly, it shifted. The tires rolled quietly. The body of the car eased away from the curb. The engine hummed faintly. We watched the taillights glow a dull red as the car drifted down the road and turned into a corner until it vanished completely.
My stepmother exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest. "Thank God," she murmured. "They have gone."
But I did not feel relieved. Not fully. Something about the way the car left felt intentional. Deliberate. As though whoever was inside wanted us to know they were leaving. Wanted us to see it.
We stood there for a long moment, staring at the street even after it emptied, waiting for the air to feel normal again. Waiting to breathe without fear.
Then my phone buzzed.
The sound was small, but my whole body stiffened. I lifted the phone slowly, expecting Ethan's reply. Expecting a message that would calm me.
But the number on the screen was not saved. I did not recognize it. And the message made my blood run cold.
Unknown Number: You shouldn't have texted him.
My fingers loosened, almost dropping the phone. A chill moved through me, deeper than before. Something thickened in the air around us, heavy and dangerous.
"Who is it?" my stepmother asked, turning toward me.
I could not speak immediately.
My voice was stuck.
My breath was trapped.
Because at that moment I knew something with a frightening clarity.
Whoever had been watching us was not gone.
They had only moved closer.
And they knew exactly who I had run to for safety.