The air between you crackled with the weight of unspoken words as you moved in sync through the dim corridors. Stalker’s gaze flicked to you—sharp, calculating—like a predator sizing up its prey.

“You’re not afraid of me… are you?” His voice was low, a rasp that cut through the quiet.

You met his eyes without hesitation, forcing a casual tilt to your lips. “Afraid of you? What would I have to fear?” Your voice was steady, but your heart pounded under the weight of his presence.

He stopped, pivoting smoothly until you were face to face, shadows clinging to his armor like a second skin. “Most are.” His tone was flat, but the hint of something darker lingered beneath.

“Well.” You paused, letting the silence stretch, then gave a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “Not me.”

The corner of his mouth twitched—an almost smile, unsettling and sharp. “Maybe you’re not afraid… but I’m certain you’ve imagined me. Alone.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, edged with that cruel amusement only he could muster.

Your breath hitched for a fraction of a second. Narrowing your eyes, you shot back, voice heavy with mock disdain, “Am I that transparent? ‘I want you. I need you. Oh, Stalker, oh baby.’”

The tension cracked like a whip between you, but neither dared to say more. The silence returned, but now it was charged—with something neither wanted to admit.