By the time he left the bookstore, the unease hadn’t left him. Ethan’s pulse still raced as he walked back to his apartment, the images of the bookstore and the strange man lodged deep in his mind. It wasn’t just the encounter itself— it was the feeling that something was off, that he was being watched. The unease from the moment he stepped onto the street hadn’t dissipated; it had only grown stronger, knotting in his stomach. The hair on the back of his neck prickled as if some invisible presence lingered just behind him. 

He quickened his pace, fingers brushing against his keys in his pocket as if the familiar weight could ground him. But as the door to his building loomed closer, the feeling of being followed only intensified. His eyes flicked over his shoulder, scanning the empty street, the shadowed alleyways, the lone parked cars. There was no one. But that didn’t make him feel safer. The city had a way of swallowing things whole—quiet, dark corners where people could disappear without a trace. 

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was Naomi again. He didn’t answer it. Instead, he pocketed it, shaking his head. His instincts told him something was wrong, and he couldn’t quite place it, but he didn’t want to worry her. Not yet. 

The building’s old elevator creaked and groaned as it ascended, the faint hum of machinery vibrating through the walls. As the doors slid open on his floor, Ethan stepped out, but something felt off. The door across from his, once dull and worn Gray, now smelled of fresh paint. It was almost too dark to make out the details, but the number had changed from A 3 to A 7.A thin strip of dim light seeped through the cracks at the bottom of the door. New neighbours? He hadn’t heard anything about anyone moving in. 

Yet, as he walked toward his door, a feeling of dread pooled in his chest. The hallway felt too still, too quiet, as though the world had momentarily paused, watching him. 

He unlocked his door with a flick of his wrist, the sound of the tumblers shifting sharp in the silence. Stepping inside, he immediately bolted the door behind him, locking it with an urgency he couldn’t explain. 

The apartment felt cold, too cold. He turned on the lights, the glow of the bulbs doing little to push back the shadows in the corners of the room. His shoes hit the wooden floor with a hollow sound as he moved through the small living area. 

Everything seemed fine. The couch where he’d collapsed earlier, the kitchen counter stacked with dirty dishes. The desk, where his notebook sat—silent, waiting for him. But the longer he stood there, the more the walls seemed to press in on him. He couldn’t shake the sense that something was wrong, that someone was watching. 

Ethan’s eyes flicked to the window, where the blinds were slightly parted. The faintest sliver of city light slipped through, casting a pale rectangle on the floor. He crossed the room quickly, pulling the blinds shut, his fingers trembling. The shadow outside was gone. 

But it wasn’t just the window. It was the whole apartment—the stillness of it, the oppressive silence that filled every corner. His gaze darted to the notebook in the drawer.