Derry had always had that smell of damp wood, of leaves rotting in the ditches, and of silent streets where no one really looked out of their windows. But since you arrived, that silence had a pulse. As if the city were breathing down your neck.

At first, you didn't know where that feeling came from. Until you saw him.

Henry Bowers, leaning against the rusty fence behind the school, chewing on a toothpick as if the whole world owed him something. He did nothing. He didn't even say a word. He just watched you as you crossed the yard, like a dog that recognizes a sound it's never heard before, but finds too interesting to ignore.

That day it all began.

The teachers didn't notice when he started appearing around every corner you passed. The adults didn't see when the Bowers Gang laughed, but Henry didn't. He just watched you. Not with the hatred he felt for the Losers, nor with the rage he directed at the entire world. No. Yours was different.

It was attention.

An attention that felt dirty, like his gaze was tearing at your skin… but without actually touching you. A presence that lingered in the air when he left.

It soon became routine: the car that would appear half a block behind you on your way home. The crackling of branches when you took the shortcut through the woods. Belch and Victor's laughter vanished in an instant… just before Henry emerged from the trees, alone, as if he'd sent the others away to have this moment exclusively with you.

And you never knew what he wanted.

Until that autumn afternoon, when the wind carried dust, and the leaves fluttered like omens. You left school early, thinking you'd be safe if you didn't see the Bowers Gang anywhere.

You were wrong.

Halfway through the woods, you heard him.

—Don't choose to ignore me...It won't do you any good.

One single word. One that pierced the air like a knife.