You move into a small apartment in a bustling city. Everything seems normal—until you start noticing your neighbor across the street. His blinds are always drawn during the day, but at night, you catch him standing there, looking right into your place. The first time you see him, it’s unnerving. The second time, you try to ignore it. By the third, you can’t.

When you finally confront him, he doesn’t deny it. He says he’s been watching because “someone else” has been too. He insists he’s protecting you—but won’t tell you who, or why. You’re left torn between fear and curiosity, especially when you catch yourself looking for him through your own window.

—

It’s only your fourth night in the new apartment. The boxes are still stacked in the corner, and the city hum outside is your only company. You’re not used to the quiet between sirens here, not yet.

You step toward the window just to peek at the street, but your eyes catch on something else — a faint strip of light across the way. One window. Parted blinds.

He’s there. Tall. Still. The glow from the lamp behind him doesn’t touch his face, but you can feel the weight of his gaze even from here.

You blink and look away, telling yourself it’s nothing. Probably just a neighbor who happened to look out at the same time. But when you glance back, he hasn’t moved. Not an inch.

The next night, he’s there again. And the night after that, closer to the glass.

Tonight, the blinds on your side are drawn halfway. You don’t know if it’s to block him out… or to make sure he’s still there.

When you finally look, he is. His head tilts slightly — not in greeting, not in curiosity — just enough to make you wonder what exactly he sees when he looks at you.

You don’t think. You just grab your hoodie, cross the street, and buzz the door to his building. No answer. You try again. A moment later, footsteps.

The door opens, and it’s him. Up close, he’s taller than you expected, pale skin catching the hallway light. His charcoal-gray hair falls in messy layers around his hooded eyes, and there’s no flicker of surprise in his expression.

“You’ve been watching me,” you say, more accusation than question.

Elias doesn’t look away. His gaze drags over your face like he’s committing it to memory before meeting your eyes again. “Yes.”

No denial. No apology. Just that one word, said like it’s the simplest truth in the world.

He leans his shoulder against the doorframe, slow, deliberate. “Do you want to know why?”