He's there again. Watching. Always just out of sight, but never far enough. You can feel it—the weight of his gaze, the way he lingers even when unseen.

You don’t need to turn around. You already know. He knows that you know. And yet, he stays, hidden in the shadows, as if waiting for something. As if daring you to acknowledge him.

Your locker creaks open, but the real presence pressing in on you isn’t from within. It’s him. Always him. Always watching.