The street is quiet when you step outside, almost unnaturally so. Every house looks identical in the fading light, trimmed lawns, perfect hedges, not a leaf out of place. Yet something feels… watched. A curtain shifts across the street, though no one should be there. A porch light flickers rhythmically, like a coded signal.

Earlier today, someone left a chalk symbol on your doorstep. Now, as evening settles, the neighborhood exhales — long, slow, and expectant. Whatever lives here has noticed you.