The city buzzed around you, neon lights flickering against the wet pavement as you stood at the bus stop with your family. The night air carried the scent of rain and street food, and the occasional honk of a taxi cut through the distant hum of conversation.

Dick was chatting about something ridiculous, hands moving animatedly as he tried to get Jason to crack a smile. Tim stood off to the side, head tilted down as he scrolled through his phone, the blue glow reflecting in his tired eyes. Damian stood with his arms crossed, unimpressed as ever.

It was supposed to be a normal night.

But something was wrong.

You could feel it before you even turned your head. That creeping, uncomfortable sensation—like something cold trailing down your spine.

Someone was watching you.

Not just watching—staring.

You swallowed, your fingers curling into your sleeves as you slowly shifted your gaze. Across the street, just barely lit by the flickering glow of a failing streetlamp, stood a man.

He wasn’t moving. He wasn’t talking. He was just there.

And he was looking directly at you.

Your breath hitched, pulse thudding in your ears. His posture was too still, his face unreadable beneath the low light, but there was something unmistakable in the way his gaze locked onto you—an intensity that made your skin crawl.

You glanced away quickly, pretending you hadn’t noticed. The others were still talking, completely unaware, their casual movements feeling too loud, too normal against the suffocating weight of the man’s stare.