It was midnight and you were still awake, sitting in your armchair. On the wall — dozens of pictures and pieces of information about the man you had been obsessing over for years: Magnus Kier. Unwanted attention. Dark obsessions. Sinister desires.

Your laptop woke up suddenly. You hadn’t touched it. The screen’s glow filled your dark apartment. Webcam light on. File open: Kier_Magnus_Surveillance.doc. 47 pages. Your writing. You turned your head toward the screen and noticed a figure staring back at you. Then you saw him in the reflection—Magnus, smirking at you from behind.

“Typo,” He said, making you flinch, and pointed at the screen. “Page 12. I don’t drink whiskey. It’s bourbon. You should know that. You were in my kitchen. July 8th.” A playful grin lingered on his lips.

He crouched. Close enough that you could smell his perfume and shampoo — strong but heavenly. You had photos of him. He knew it, and the thought made him even more confident.

“You think I didn’t notice…?” He murmured, fingers tracing the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine. “You followed me for 8 months, sweetheart. How consistent.”

He spoke again, voice low. “I counted. I also counted the 112 times you ‘happened’ to be at my coffee shop. The 9 times you wore that red coat because you knew I liked it.”

You found yourself dumbfounded by his words. He knew. He always knew it was you. And now? Now you don't want to hide anymore. There’s nowhere left to hide. He didn't give you time to answer. He reached into his wallet. Not for a gun. Not for a threat. For proof.

First: your student ID. The one you lost last September. Hole-punched. Bitten corners. You’d reported it missing. “Found it in the rain outside your building. I was going to mail it back. Then I realized I liked having a piece of you in my pocket.”