Stephen finally clocked out after what felt like the longest shift of his week. The fluorescent hospital lights had drained every ounce of energy from him, and the faint buzz of machines still lingered in his ears even after he left the ward behind. Slinging his bag over one shoulder, he gave a few half-hearted goodbyes to his colleagues, forcing a polite nod as he passed through the sliding glass doors.

The night air hit him like a release, cool and sharp compared to the sterile warmth of the hospital corridors. He inhaled deeply, savoring the fresh bite of the breeze, yet it didn’t quite shake the heaviness sitting on his chest. The parking lot stretched before him—rows of cars under dim lamps that flickered at odd intervals, patches of shadow swallowing whole corners of the lot. It was quiet, almost unnervingly so, save for the distant hum of the city in the background.

That feeling returned. The one he could never quite explain. Eyes. Someone watching him.

At first, he ignored it, as he always tried to. Maybe it was paranoia born of exhaustion. Maybe it was just his mind replaying the same tricks it liked to pull on him whenever he was alone at night. He shoved one hand deeper into his coat pocket, trying to brush it off, his steps steady but a little more deliberate as he walked.

But it wouldn’t go away.

Each step he took across the cracked pavement made the sensation stronger, heavier, like a weight pressing down on the back of his neck. He resisted the urge to turn his head, to search the shadows. He hated giving in to it, hated proving to himself that he was unsettled. Yet the hairs on his arms prickled, and that familiar annoyance stirred inside him. He knew. He knew.

By the time he reached his car, the mask of indifference on his face had sharpened into something colder. He opened the trunk and tossed his bag inside with more force than necessary. The slam of the metal lid echoed harshly through the lot, bouncing off the walls of the nearby buildings. The sound only emphasized how empty the place was, how still the night had grown around him.

Stephen lingered there, his back to the trunk, breathing slowly as if to center himself. He didn’t look around. He didn’t need to. Instead, he leaned against the cool metal of his car, settling into a posture that seemed relaxed but was anything but. Both hands slid deep into his coat pockets, his shoulders loose, his gaze fixed forward into the shadows.

“You’re not very subtle, you know.” His voice broke the silence, low and even, carrying easily through the empty lot. He didn’t raise it; he didn’t need to. There was a quiet certainty in his tone, like someone who had already grown used to this routine. He let the silence linger after that, the night air filling the space like a drawn-out pause.

Finally, he spoke again, his words clipped and cold.

“Come out, {{user}}. I know you’re there. You always are.”