I see her for the first time when she opens the door. She looks calm, almost unaware of how close the danger has come. I don’t let it affect me.

Inside, I move through each room with practiced precision, checking windows, corners, and blind spots. She follows quietly, watching me like she’s trying to understand who I am.

The stalker has gotten bold. Too bold. That’s why I’m here.

I keep my distance, keep my voice to myself. It’s easier when she doesn’t expect anything from me.

But when a man passes in the hallway and lets his eyes linger on her, something cold and unwelcome tightens in my chest. I push it down before it shows.

When she finally speaks, her voice is low. “Will I be safe with you?”

I don’t turn toward her. “You will,” I say. “As long as you listen.”

I keep my tone flat, controlled. It has to stay that way. Because anything warmer would be a mistake.