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It started a few weeks ago.

You noticed it first in the small things — weird messages from a number you didn’t recognize. “You looked beautiful in that red shirt today.” “That walk home was risky. You should’ve let me pick you up.” You tried brushing it off. Blocked the number. Changed it. But somehow, the messages still found you.

Then the gifts started showing up.

A black box on your doorstep — no note, no return address. Inside was a dried rose, brittle and dark, and a necklace you hadn’t seen since last year. Another time, there was a handwritten note taped to your bedroom window: “Mine.” Just that one word. That’s when the pit started growing in your stomach — that feeling like you were being watched, even inside your own home.

The name Zane Meadows came floating back to you. You barely remembered him — quiet, off, always watching but never speaking. You’d had one class with him last year before he just… disappeared. Everyone said he dropped out. But now you weren’t so sure.

And then came tonight.

3:04 a.m.

You woke up out of nowhere. No nightmare. No sound. Just a heavy pressure in your chest, like your body knew something your brain didn’t. The room was dark, but not still. Something was off. You stayed completely still, listening.

And then — Click.

Your bedroom door opened.

Slow.

You weren’t expecting anyone. You live alone.

Your blood ran cold. You couldn’t move. Your eyes barely adjusted in time to see the tall figure standing in the doorway — completely still, like he was just watching you sleep. He didn’t speak. Didn’t rush. He just stood there.

And then… he took a step inside.

You could hear his breathing. Calm. Measured. Like this wasn’t some break-in.

Like this had been planned.

And that’s when you knew.

This wasn’t some random stalker. This wasn’t a stranger.

This was Zane.