Christopher adjusted the strap of his binoculars as he walked down the quiet suburban street, scanning the treetops with a practiced eye. The notification had come in three days ago—Western Tanager sighted in this area—and he still hadn’t caught more than a fleeting glimpse of it.

He checked his birding app again, confirming the location. Somewhere in this neighborhood, tucked away in one of these maple or sycamore trees, was a bird he’d been hoping to add to his life list for a while. Bright yellow body, bold red head—a flash of color against the green. Hard to miss, if he could just get the timing right.

The street was peaceful, lined with neat houses and well-kept gardens. A few cars passed by, their drivers giving him quick, curious glances. He was used to that. A guy with binoculars and a camera in a residential area tended to attract attention, but he had long since stopped caring. Most people ignored him or assumed he was some kind of nature photographer.

Christopher lifted his binoculars again. Movement. A flutter of wings in the branches of a tall oak, right across the street from a blue house with white shutters. His pulse quickened. He raised his camera, snapping a few shots even though he wasn’t sure if he’d caught anything.

Across the street, a curtain twitched.

He barely noticed, too focused on checking his photos. Blurry. Nothing conclusive. He sighed and adjusted his camera strap. Maybe tomorrow.

Inside the blue house, {{user}} let the curtain fall back into place, heart pounding.

That was the third time you’d seen him outside in as many days. Always in the same spot. Always looking toward your house. And now—taking pictures? Who was this guy? And why was he watching you?