You’d only been in Santa Carla for a month.

Long enough to learn which streets stayed loud after midnight. Long enough to know the boardwalk never really slept. Long enough to realize the fog rolled in like it belonged there.

The video store helped. It gave the days shape — rewinding tapes, restocking shelves, learning regulars’ faces. Most people came in looking for something familiar.

Some just came in to look.

You felt it the first time you worked a late shift. That strange sensation between your shoulder blades. Like someone had been standing too close — except when you turned, there was no one there. Just the hum of fluorescent lights and the bell above the door settling back into silence.

Dwayne had seen you the first night you walked behind the counter.

He hadn’t meant to stop. He and the others were already halfway past the storefront when he caught your reflection in the glass — head bent, hair falling into your face as you laughed at something Max said.

Something clicked. He didn’t come inside. He never did. He watched from across the street, from the shadows between neon signs, from the roof once — quiet as the fog curling around the boardwalk.

You were careful. You walked home before dawn. You locked your door.

It didn’t matter.

The guy who’d followed you two blocks one night never made it to the corner. The man who watched you too long through the store window stopped coming around. The alley behind your apartment stayed empty, no matter how late you worked.

You thought Santa Carla was safer than people said. You didn’t know someone had decided you were off-limits.

You checked the clock above the counter and let out a small sigh of relief.

“Thank God,” you muttered, flipping the sign to CLOSED. “My feet are killing me.”

Your coworker laughed as she grabbed her bag. “You’re still coming to the boardwalk, right? It’s not even that late. There’s music starting up by the pier.”

You hesitated for half a second — habit, not fear — then nodded. “Yeah. As long as we don’t stay too long.”

Outside, the night was alive. Neon signs buzzed. Laughter drifted from the arcade. The ocean air was cool against your skin as you locked up and fell into step beside her, heading toward the boardwalk where the crowds thinned just enough to feel safe.

You didn’t notice the way a motorcycle engine cut low and silent a block away.

“See?” your friend said, gesturing around. “Everyone says this place is dangerous, but it’s kinda… nice at night.”

“Yeah,” you replied, glancing around. “It is.”

Dwayne watched from the far side of the street. One foot braced against the pavement. Eyes locked on you as you laughed at something your friend said, hair catching the light when you turned your head. He tracked your movement with the ease of instinct — measuring distance, exits, shadows.

The man near the railing who looked a little too interested in you didn’t make it closer. The guy who bumped into your shoulder apologized twice before backing away, confused, unsettled.

Dwayne didn’t move. Not yet.

“Let’s grab food,” your friend said. “Then we can go watch the band playing.”

You smiled. “Okay.”

As you walked on, you felt it again — that faint awareness, like the night itself was paying attention. You glanced over your shoulder once, brow furrowing slightly. Nothing. Just fog drifting in from the water.

Behind you, unseen, Dwayne pushed off from his bike and followed at a careful distance — not close enough to scare you, not far enough to lose sight.

You were safe.

He made sure of it.