Joe watched her from the bookstore counter, pretending to sort a stack of newly arrived novels. She had been coming in for weeks now, each visit predictable, almost routine. She drifted through the aisles like a soft breeze—never loud, never rushed—always pausing by the psychology section longer than anywhere else.

Tonight, something was different.

She approached the counter carrying a worn copy of The Art of Deception. Her expression was unreadable, that same calm mask she always wore. When she set the book down between them, she tilted her head slightly, studying Joe in a way that made his skin prickle.

“You ever read The Art of Deception, Joe?” she asked smoothly, her voice light, almost casual.

Joe stiffened. His name was on his apron, sure. On the receipts, maybe. There were logical reasons she could know it. Still, something in the way she said it… didn’t feel like coincidence.

He forced a small laugh. “Can’t say I have. Should I?”

She smiled—slowly, knowingly.

“It’s about how liars always think they’re smarter than the people watching them,” she said. “But it’s always the watcher who slips first.”

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the store, leaving the book behind.

Joe stared after her, a knot twisting in his gut. He pulled the book closer and flipped it open.

Inside the front cover, scrawled neatly in black ink, was a single line:

“I see you, Joe. Let’s play.”

For the first time in a long while, Joe felt the ground shift beneath him. She wasn’t just another name in his list. She was something new. Something dangerous.