𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓪 𝓜𝓸𝓷𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻

I noticed him the third time he came into the café.

Not because he was loud.

Not because he was handsome in an obvious way.

But because he watched.

He always sat at the same table, near the window, black coat still on even when everyone else complained about the heat. His coffee stayed untouched for long minutes. His eyes, instead, moved slowly. Calm. Precise.

They stopped on me.

I felt it before I saw it — that strange pressure between my shoulders, the instinctive urge to turn around.

When our eyes met, he didn’t look away.

Most men did. Embarrassed. Caught.

He didn’t.

His gaze held mine with unsettling patience, like he had all the time in the world and I was exactly where he expected me to be.

I should have felt afraid.

Instead, my breath faltered.

“Table five,” my coworker whispered, nudging me. “He’s been staring at you since you clocked in.”

“I know,” I said, my voice lower than usual.

“Creepy,” she added.

I didn’t answer.

Because creepy wasn’t the word.

Creepy was sloppy. Obvious. Nervous.

He was controlled.

When I brought his coffee, my fingers trembled just enough to betray me. He noticed. Of course he did.

“Thank you,” he said.

His voice was calm. Deep. Almost gentle.

Our hands brushed — accidental, brief — but electricity shot through me like a warning siren. My skin burned where he touched me, long after I stepped back.

He smiled then.

Not wide. Not friendly.

Like he knew something I didn’t.

“You work too hard,” he said casually.

I frowned. “You don’t know me.”

His eyes flicked to my name tag.

Then back to my face.

“I know enough.”

Something in my stomach tightened.

Interest and fear twisted together until I couldn’t tell them apart.

“What’s your name?” I asked, surprising myself.

For the first time, his expression changed — just slightly.

Amused.

“Daniel,” he said.

Later that night, scrolling through my phone in bed, I saw the headline:

Police Confirm Pattern in Recent Murders — Suspect Still Unknown

The photo beneath showed a blurry security image.

A black coat.

A familiar posture.

A man sitting near a window.

My heart started racing.

And the worst part?

I smiled.