Chapter Two: Stranger’s Warning
757 Words
The sketchbook sat on the kitchen table like a question she didn’t know how to answer.
Rowan hadn’t opened it since the man in the hoodie left it on her doorstep the night before. She’d barely slept — too busy listening for footsteps that never came, checking the locks over and over, waiting for the sound of Theo’s voice bleeding through the walls.
But it wasn’t Theo she kept seeing in her mind.
It was him.
That stillness. That voice. That note.
“You shouldn’t draw monsters if you don’t want them to see you.”
Rowan flipped open the sketchbook with careful fingers. The note was gone. Erased? Removed? Or had she imagined it entirely?
No. She knew what she saw.
She ran her finger over the page. Clean. Just her sketch of him — the way he leaned against the light pole, the curve of his jaw half-shadowed. She hadn’t drawn his eyes, but somehow she remembered them anyway.
Dark. Deep-set. The kind of eyes that didn’t just look at you. They read you.
A knock at the door startled her.
This time it was morning. Sunlight spilled through the kitchen window in pale slants, making the knock seem less threatening. Still, she moved slowly.
She peeked through the peephole.
It was him.
Same hoodie. Same stance. Like he hadn’t moved since the night before.
Rowan opened the door only a crack. “How did you find me?”
“I saw the address inside the sketchbook,” he said.
“You read through it?”
“I didn’t read. I looked.”
There was a quiet force in the way he spoke. Not aggressive, but certain — like he didn’t need to convince her of anything. Like truth didn’t need permission.
“You left a note,” she said. “And then erased it.”
He looked at her for a moment, unreadable. “I thought it would scare you.”
“It did.”
“I’m not sorry.”
She tightened her grip on the door. “What do you want?”
He looked past her, into the house. Not in a creepy way. Just curious. Like he was cataloging details — the chipped paint, the crooked light fixture above her head, the storm brewing in her eyes.
“To talk,” he said.
“About what?”
“You.”
Rowan almost laughed. “You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.” He paused. “You watch people. You draw them. You don’t sleep well. You’re running from someone.”
She swallowed hard. “That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right.”
He turned to go.
Just like that.
No games. No pushing. No pleading.
That stopped her more than anything else.
“Wait,” she said.
He stopped.
“Who are you?”
He turned back, and for the first time, he pulled down his hood.
Lucien Vale looked exactly like someone you should not trust.
Sharp cheekbones. A mouth that looked better closed. A faint scar slicing through his right eyebrow like punctuation. His hair was black, just long enough to fall into his eyes, and his expression was the kind of calm that came from holding things back.
“My name’s Lucien,” he said. “I live in the woods.”
“Like a fairytale monster?”
“Sometimes,” he said, and smiled like it wasn’t a joke.
Rowan didn’t smile back.
“What do you want from me?” she asked.
He studied her, and then said something that made the hairs on her arms stand up.
“Not a thing.”
And he meant it.
No expectation. No charm. No hunger in his voice.
But there was something else — something worse.
Recognition.
As if he saw the cracks in her before she ever said a word.
“I’ve been where you are,” Lucien said quietly. “That space between survival and breaking. I’m not here to save you. I just don’t like seeing someone drown when they think they’re alone.”
Rowan didn’t answer.
What could she say?
He nodded, took a step back. “You’ll see me around,” he said, and walked off again — disappearing into the tree line like he belonged to it.
Rowan closed the door and leaned against it, heart racing.
What just happened?
She didn’t know if Lucien was a threat or a warning.
But she knew one thing for sure.
Theo never looked at her like that.
Like she was real.
- Writer
