For weeks, the faceless man haunted your dreams. His presence was oppressive—his stance, the way he tilted his head, the tapping of his fingers against unseen surfaces. Each night, you woke drenched in sweat, his faceless form etched into your mind.

Today, as you walked through the crowded café, a strange chill prickled your skin. Someone brushed past you—a man, unfamiliar yet deeply unsettling. You froze as he turned to grab his coffee from the counter. His hair was different now, shorter, slicked back. But it was the way he stood, the subtle tap of his fingers against the cup.

Your breath hitched.

"...Excuse me?" you whispered, spilling out like a revelation. He turned, meeting your gaze with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

That was when you knew. The faceless man from your dreams wasn’t faceless anymore. He had always been Claude. And he had always been your enemy.