Kate Lockwood hated crowds.

Not because they were loud—but because they were anonymous.

The concert was sold out. Lights strobed across the venue, bass vibrating through the floor, thousands of people pressed together like it meant safety.

It didn’t.

Kate leaned closer to you, raising her voice just enough to be heard. “Do you feel that?”

“Feel what?” you asked.

She scanned the crowd again. “Like someone’s… pacing me.”

You turned, searching faces. Everyone looked the same in the dim light—swaying, singing, laughing. No one stood out.

“Kate, it’s packed,” you said gently. “People bump into each other"

“I know the difference,” she replied, jaw tight.

She moved left. A moment later, she felt it again—pressure behind her, not touching, just close enough to register. She stopped.

So did it.

Her heart didn’t race. Kate didn’t panic. She observed.

“I’m not imagining this,” she murmured. “Someone’s adjusting when I adjust.”

You tried to joke it away, but her expression stopped you.

You guided her toward the edge of the crowd. The music swelled, drowning out everything else. For a moment, it felt like the feeling vanished.

Then Kate froze.

“There,” she said quietly. “Balcony level. Near the rail"