To Eliza

The studio smelled of green soap and warm skin, the familiar low thrum of the machine settling into the bones of the place. Afternoon light slanted through the front windows, catching on glass jars of ink and the steel edges of trays laid out with care.

Eliza sat low on her stool, one foot hooked around the rung for balance, her shoulders slightly hunched in the way they always were when she was concentrating. At five foot four she never quite filled a space, but there was a steadiness to how she occupied it. Her strawberry-blonde hair had been pulled back loosely, waves escaping around her temples, freckles standing out against pale skin flushed faintly from the heat of the room. When she leaned closer, blue eyes narrowed in focus, she murmured her thoughts aloud without realising she was doing it.

“Alright,” she said softly, half to herself. “If I tighten that curve here, the wing reads cleaner when your arm’s down. Otherwise it looks like it’s folding in on itself.”

Boris sat patiently in the chair, long limbs arranged with care. At six foot four he had learned how to make himself smaller, how to fold into spaces not built for him. His head was shaved close, brown stubble shadowing his jaw, and his blue eyes followed Eliza’s movements rather than the stencil itself. He didn’t fidget. He never did.

“You’re the expert,” he said.

Eliza smiled, quick and instinctive. “That’s what everyone says. It’s still your arm.”

“I trust you.”

There was no weight behind the words. No performance. Just fact.

Behind the counter, Val was mid-clean, sleeves rolled up, dark brown hair scraped into a functional knot that exposed the sharp line of her cheekbones. At five foot eight she moved with confidence through the studio, olive skin warm against the white of the walls, hazel eyes constantly clocking what was out of place. She had the energy of someone who noticed everything and fixed what she could reach.

Spray bottles clinked as she reorganised the shelves with near-aggressive precision.

“You know,” Val said, not looking up, “if you labelled your drawers like a normal person, this wouldn’t take me three hours.”

“They are labelled,” Eliza replied automatically.

“In your head,” Val said. “That’s not a system.”

Eliza laughed, the sound light. “You love it really.”

“I love finishing it,” Val said. “Big difference.”

The door chimed and Charlie stepped inside, ducking slightly out of habit despite being tall enough not to need to. At five foot ten she had an easy, loose-limbed presence, dyed pink hair pulled into a messy half-ponytail that made her stand out without seeming like she was trying to. Her skin was a light brown, her expression open, brown eyes flicking briefly around the room before settling on Val.

“Hey,” she said. “You busy?”

Val straightened, wiping her hands on a cloth. “Always. But for you? Temporarily less so.”

Charlie smiled and perched on the edge of the counter, comfortable in the space in a way that suggested she spent a lot of time in rooms full of creative mess. She had a habit of listening first, speaking second, even when she didn’t mean to.

“I was thinking,” Charlie said, “about getting something small. Maybe behind the ear or on the collarbone. Nothing dramatic.”

Val snorted. “You say that every time.”

Eliza glanced over her shoulder, catching Charlie’s eye. “We’ll corrupt you yet.”

Charlie grinned. “I trust you implicitly. Which is probably a mistake.”

“Definitely,” Val said.

They fell into easy conversation about placement and line weight, Eliza returning her attention to Boris’s arm, adjusting the stencil again. She wiped gently, checking how the raven’s wings would sit once his arm relaxed, the rose cradled in the ribbon’s loop.

Halfway through Val’s commentary on collarbone tattoos being an exercise in regret, she added, lightly, “Oh, by the way. Have you had any more gifts from your stalker, Liza?”

The shift in the room was subtle but unmistakable.

Eliza paused, the machine hovering just above Boris’s skin. “He’s not a stalker,” she said automatically. “And yes. Sort of.”

Val turned fully now, concern sharpening her features. Charlie’s smile faded into attentiveness. Boris lifted his gaze, still careful not to move.

“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?” Val asked.

Eliza set the machine down and wiped her gloves on a towel. “It’s nothing. Honestly. Just the odd thing. It’s been happening on and off since my parents died.”

Charlie frowned slightly. “What kind of things?”

“Practical stuff,” Eliza said. “A replacement lightbulb. Garden gloves. Screws I’d been meaning to buy. Things like that.”

“And anonymous,” Val said.

“Yes.”

“And left on your doorstep.”

Eliza nodded.

Val’s jaw tightened. “I keep telling you to go to the police.”

“And I keep telling you I don’t have proof of malice,” Eliza said, a touch defensive now. “I don’t even know who it is.”

Charlie tilted her head. “Have you thought about putting up a camera?”

Eliza blinked. “A camera?”

“Just a small one,” Charlie said. “Doorbell cam or something. If nothing else, you’ll know who it is.”

Boris spoke quietly. “You should be careful. These things can escalate.”

The word settled heavily between them.

Eliza exhaled, aware suddenly of all eyes on her. She hated being the point of tension, hated the way concern tightened the room.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll get a camera. Just to see.”

Val nodded, satisfied for now. Charlie smiled, relief softening her face.

The conversation deliberately eased back into safer territory. Charlie began describing a band she’d discovered through work. Val groaned. Boris smiled faintly as Eliza leaned back in, steadying his arm.

“I’m really enjoying this design,” she said quietly. “The raven suits you.”

Boris glanced down at the lines taking shape on his skin. “I thought so too.”

The machine buzzed back to life, and the afternoon carried on, warm and ordinary, as if nothing at all had shifted.

The studio was closed, the sign flipped, the street outside Nightshade Needle settling into its evening rhythm. Rain ticked faintly against the glass. Inside, the lights were dimmed to their softer setting, less clinical, more familiar.

Eliza was wiping down her station with unhurried care, even though everything was already clean. It gave her hands something to do. Val leaned against the counter, arms folded, watching her without pretending she wasn’t.

“You always do that,” Val said eventually.

Eliza didn’t look up. “Do what?”

“Clean twice when you’re avoiding something.”

Eliza huffed a quiet laugh. “Occupational hazard.”

Val let it go for a moment. Then, gently, “I didn’t mean to drop that on you in front of everyone earlier.”

“I know.” Eliza capped the bottle and lined it up with the others, nudging it until it sat straight. “It’s fine.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Eliza turned then, leaning back against the bench. Without the machine in her hand, she looked smaller somehow, her shoulders sloping inward. “I just don’t know if it is a stalker. That feels… dramatic.”

Val raised an eyebrow. “Someone leaving anonymous gifts at your house for years isn’t dramatic?”

“They’re not threatening,” Eliza said. “There’s no note. No pressure. It’s not like they’re watching me.”

Val didn’t interrupt. She rarely did when Eliza was thinking out loud.

“It’s just…” Eliza gestured vaguely. “People help each other. Neighbours do things. Someone might have had a crush years ago and never grew out of it. That doesn’t automatically make them dangerous.”

Val considered that. “Do they know what lightbulbs you need?”

Eliza hesitated. “Yes.”

“And what screws you were planning to buy?”

“Yes, but—”

“And when your bin goes out late and you forget?”

Eliza fell quiet.

Val’s voice stayed even. “I’m not saying this to scare you. I’m saying it because you keep trying to make this fit into a category that feels safer.”

Eliza frowned. “Safer how?”

“If it’s just kindness gone awkward,” Val said, “then you don’t have to do anything. You can tolerate it. You’re very good at tolerating things.”

That landed. Eliza picked at a freckle on her wrist with her thumb.

“I don’t feel threatened,” she said after a moment.

Val nodded. “You don’t have to. Stalking isn’t about how it feels at first. It’s about patterns.”

Eliza sighed. “You sound like a leaflet.”

“I sound like someone who’s known you since you were twenty and still thinks you underestimate what you’re allowed to be bothered by.”

They shared a small smile, thin but real.

“I just don’t want to overreact,” Eliza said. “What if I call it a stalker and it turns out to be nothing? What if it’s someone lonely, or someone old, or someone who thinks they’re helping?”

Val pushed off the counter and came closer, stopping just short of Eliza’s space. “Then you still get to decide what’s acceptable in your life.”

Eliza looked down. “I don’t even know who it is.”

“Which is the point,” Val said softly.

Silence stretched. Not awkward. Thinking silence.

“The camera,” Eliza said eventually. “I’ll get one tomorrow.”

Val nodded. “Good.”

“And if it is nothing,” Eliza added, almost pleading. “If it really is just someone misguided…”

“Then you’ll know,” Val said. “And knowing doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you informed.”

Eliza let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “You make it sound very reasonable.”

“I am very reasonable,” Val said dryly. “I’m just also deeply unimpressed by men who think anonymity makes behaviour less invasive.”

Eliza hesitated. “We don’t actually know it’s a man.”

Val looked at her for a moment, not unkindly. “Can you think of a woman who would do this anonymously for years?”

Eliza opened her mouth, then closed it again. She thought of Claudette, of Val herself, of Charlie, of the way care tended to announce itself eventually, even when it was awkward.

“No,” she admitted quietly.

Val nodded once, not triumphant. “Neither can I.”

Eliza smiled despite herself.

They finished tidying in companionable quiet, the studio settling around them. When they turned off the lights and stepped out into the street, Eliza locked the door behind them, the click louder than usual.

She told herself it meant nothing.

She didn’t say it aloud.

They installed the camera just as dusk was giving way to evening, the sky thinning from grey to a bruised blue above the rooftops. Val stood on the small step ladder, screwdriver clenched between her teeth, while Eliza held the casing steady against the brickwork.

“Left a bit,” Val said, muffled.

Eliza adjusted her grip. “If this falls on my foot, I’m suing.”

“You inherited the house,” Val said. “You can’t sue yourself.”

Eliza snorted. “Watch me.”

The camera was small, unobtrusive. Too small, Eliza thought. She kept expecting it to look more official, more like a declaration. Instead it sat quietly above the doorframe, another fixture among the gutters and pipes.

Footsteps approached along the pavement. Eliza glanced up just as Ian Levin slowed, recognition lighting his face.

He was dressed for the long day rather than the evening, jacket creased at the elbows, black hair flattened slightly by drizzle. At five foot ten he didn’t loom, but he carried himself with an alertness that made him noticeable anyway, brown eyes already taking in the ladder, the wiring, the small dark eye of the camera above the door.

“Hey,” he said, stopping a few feet back, hands shoved into his pockets. He took in the scene with the careful attention he brought to everything. “I was wondering when you’d do that.”

Val leaned down, raising an eyebrow. “Good evening to you too.”

Ian smiled apologetically. “Sorry. Hi, Val.”

Eliza felt a small flicker of embarrassment. “We only just got around to it.”

“I’m glad you have,” Ian said, earnest now. He nodded towards the door. “It must be worrying. Not knowing where those gifts are coming from.”

Val climbed down, wiping her hands on her jeans. “That’s what I keep telling her.”

Ian looked back at Eliza. “Have you thought any more about going to the police, Liza?”

The name landed gently, familiar, unremarkable.

“I have,” Eliza said. “But there’s still nothing concrete. This felt like a sensible first step.”

Ian nodded, approving. “It is. Evidence helps. Even if it’s just peace of mind.”

Val checked the alignment once more, then glanced between the two of them with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “I’ve left my phone inside,” she said. “Which is impressive, given I don’t go anywhere without it. I’ll just grab it.”

She didn’t wait for a response, slipping back into the house and closing the door behind her.

Eliza turned back to the camera, suddenly aware of how quiet the street had become. Ian shifted his weight, then cleared his throat.

“I was actually hoping to catch you,” he said.

“Oh?” Eliza smiled, nervous but pleased.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “I know this might not be the best timing, given… everything. But I wondered if you might want to go for dinner tomorrow night. Somewhere public. Bright. No dark alleys,” he added quickly, half-joking.

Eliza laughed, the tension easing. She looked at him properly then. He was open in the way he always was, concern worn plainly, no angle to it.

“Yes,” she said. “I’d like that.”

Relief flickered across his face. “Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

The front door opened almost immediately.

“Well,” Val said brightly, stepping back outside. “About bloody time.”

Ian flushed. “You heard that?”

“I have ears,” Val said. “And a vested interest.”

They finished tightening the last screws together, Val handing Eliza the small instruction booklet she’d already memorised.

“I brought wine,” Val said, producing a bottle from her bag. “Thought we’d christen the new era of surveillance.”

She glanced at Ian. “You’re welcome to join us.”

He shook his head. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll see Eliza tomorrow.”

He offered a small wave, then headed down the street, glancing back once before disappearing around the corner.

Inside, they poured generous glasses and settled on the sofa, the camera feed open on Eliza’s phone between them. The front door sat squarely in frame, unremarkable, illuminated by the porch light.

“Well,” Val said. “Look at that. Nothing terrifying yet.”

On screen, something moved.

They leaned in as a fox padded into view, nose to the ground, tail flicking. It paused directly in front of the door, stared at the camera for a beat, then startled itself and bolted back into the darkness.

Eliza burst out laughing, the sound sharp with relief.

“Great,” Val said. “Your first intruder is a fox.”

Eliza lifted her glass. “Cheers to that.”

They clinked glasses, the wine warm and familiar, the house holding them as it always had.

For the moment, everything felt normal again.