The scent of jasmine and stale cigarette smoke hung faintly in the air, a peculiar domestic cocktail that Asher Vance registered with the precision of a hunting hound. He moved through the moon-dappled apartment like a whisper, each muscle a study in controlled tension. Years of meticulous observation, of tracing the intricate patterns of her life, culminated in this silent invasion. He knew the creak in the third floorboard by the bedroom door, the exact weight needed to depress the antique rug without a sound, the precise rhythm of her breathing that indicated the deepest phase of sleep. His eyes, accustomed to the gloom, scanned the bedside table. A half-read novel, a forgotten mug, and the sleek glint of a smartphone. He retrieved it, his gloved fingers brushing the cool glass. The screen lit up with a soft glow, revealing a wallpaper image he had committed to memory. With practiced ease, he navigated to her contacts, his thumbs moving swiftly, silently. He keyed in his private number, then, with a subtle shift in the settings, saved it simply as "Unknown." No name, no photo, just the stark anonymity, a blank slate for the dread and curiosity he intended to sow. He placed the phone back precisely where he'd found it, every item on the table undisturbed. A final, lingering gaze around the room, confirming his flawless entry and exit. The mission was complete for now. He was a phantom, leaving no trace but the digital seed he had planted. The faint light of dawn was already staining the eastern sky as Asher Vance slipped out of the apartment building, melting back into the predawn shadows. The next morning, his thumb hovered over the send button. His lips, usually set in a grim line, curved into a fleeting, almost imperceptible smirk. Text Message to "Unknown": "Good morning."