Chapter 5
1412 Words
Chapter 5
Katie's POV
I stare at the note for a long time, my heart thudding so hard it feels like it’s rattling my ribs. I see you. Three words. Simple, but the way they’re written — sharp, jagged letters, like someone carved them into the paper with a blade — sends a cold shiver down my spine.
My fingers tremble as I flip it over, hoping for a clue, a name, something. But the back is blank. No signature. No explanation. Just those three words.
I back away from the door, the note still clutched in my hand. My eyes dart around the cabin. The bed. The balcony. The shadows stretching across the floor. I check the locks again, twisting them hard, even though I know I already did. My breath comes out fast and shallow, my chest tightening with each gulp of air.
Calm down, Katie. It’s probably a prank. Some stupid cruise prank.
But it doesn’t feel like a prank.
I grab my phone off the nightstand and scroll through my contacts. My thumb hovers over Winfred's name. No. Absolutely not. Calling him would be like handing him a victory on a silver platter. He’d probably laugh or worse—act like I was being "overdramatic" again.
No way.
I scroll down and stop at Rogan’s name. My jaw tightens. Calling him isn’t much better, but I’d rather deal with his smug grin than face this alone. At least he takes things seriously.
The phone rings twice before his voice comes through, low and steady. “You miss me already, sweetheart?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing my fingers to my temple. Stay calm, Katie. “Rogan, I’m serious. Someone left a note at my door.”
There’s a pause. His voice shifts, sharper now. “What did it say?”
I glance at the note, my throat dry. “It said, ‘I see you.’ That’s it. No name, nothing else.”
Silence. The kind that feels too loud.
“Where are you?” he asks, his tone different now. No teasing. Just cold, sharp focus.
“In my room,” I say, pacing toward the window. I pull the curtain aside just an inch, peeking out at the dark sea stretching beyond. “I locked the doors. Checked twice.”
“Stay there,” he says firmly. “I’m on my way.”
“Wait,” I snap, gripping the phone tighter. “How do you know where my room is?”
He doesn’t answer right away. I hear the distant thud of footsteps, his steady breathing as he moves.
“I make it my business to know,” he says finally. “Don’t open the door for anyone but me. Got it?”
Before I can ask anything else, he hangs up.
I lower the phone slowly, my heart still racing. He knows my room number? That doesn’t sit right with me. But at this moment, I’m too shaken to care. I check the door one more time, pressing my ear against it, listening for any sound on the other side.
Nothing.
I sit on the edge of the bed, tapping my foot against the floor, every creak of the ship making me flinch. I glance at the note on the nightstand. I see you. Those words feel like they’re breathing down my neck.
How long has someone been watching me?
There’s a sharp knock on the door. My breath catches in my throat. No. Too soon. It’s too soon for it to be Rogan.
“Who is it?” I call, heart pounding.
“It’s me,” Rogan’s voice comes through, firm and steady. “Open up, Katie.”
I hesitate for a second, my hand hovering over the lock. “How do I know it’s really you?”
I hear him chuckle through the door. “You want me to start singing or something? Come on, open the door, sweetheart.”
I check the peephole, and there he is. Rogan, hands in his pockets, eyes locked right on the peephole like he knows I’m watching him. I unlatch the lock and open the door just a c***k.
“Prove it’s you,” I say, narrowing my eyes.
He raises an eyebrow, his lips twitching with amusement. “Fine. Remember the guy in the poker lounge? Lionel. He went on tilt because he pushed too many chips in.” He leans closer, his eyes dead serious now. “Now let me in before I have to kick this door down.”
I hesitate for half a second, then swing the door open. He steps in, scanning the room like he’s expecting someone to jump out of the shadows. His shoulders are tense, his gaze sharp. He moves with that quiet, controlled energy — like a wolf on the hunt.
“Where’s the note?” he asks, already looking around.
“On the nightstand,” I say, closing the door and locking it behind him. “I didn’t touch it after I called you.”
He walks over, picks it up, and studies it for a moment. He flips it over, eyes narrowing. “No prints. No watermarks. Just plain paper.”
“You sound like a detective,” I mutter, crossing my arms. “You do this often?”
He glances at me, his face unreadable. “More than you think.”
What does that mean?
He folds the note and slips it into his back pocket.
“Hey!” I snap. “That’s mine.”
“Not anymore,” he says, turning to face me fully. “Whoever left it wants you to feel scared. You don’t give them that satisfaction.”
My eyes narrow. “So, what? You just take it and walk away?”
“No,” he says, stepping closer, his gaze locked on mine. “I figure out who left it. And then I make them regret it.”
There’s something so final in the way he says it. No hesitation. No doubt. Just cold certainty.
“Why do you even care?” I ask, tilting my head. “You barely know me.”
Rogan’s jaw tightens, and for a moment, I think he’s not going to answer. But then he does.
“Because I don’t like people who play games with fear,” he says quietly, his eyes flicking toward the door. “Fear is a weapon, Katie. The kind cowards use. And I don’t like cowards.”
My chest tightens at his words. There’s something raw in his voice, like he’s speaking from experience.
“Fine,” I say, my voice softer now. “What’s the plan?”
He steps closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Simple,” he says, his voice low and steady. “You don’t change your routine. You walk around like you’re untouchable. We make them think you’re not scared.” He tilts his head, his eyes narrowing with a dangerous edge. “And when they show themselves, we’ll be ready.”
We.
It’s the first time he’s said we like that, like this is his fight too.
“Alright,” I say, lifting my chin. “But if you’re playing me, Rogan, I’ll make you regret it.”
He chuckles, that sharp grin back on his face. “Fair enough, sweetheart.”
He turns, heading for the door, but stops just before he reaches it. His eyes flick to mine, more serious now.
“Don’t open the door for anyone but me,” he says, his voice low and firm. “No room service. No staff. No exceptions.”
I nod slowly, feeling the weight of his words.
“Lock it behind me,” he adds.
I do. As soon as he steps out, I twist the lock, hearing the solid click of metal sliding into place. I lean against the door, my head resting against the wood, eyes closed.
I see you.
Those three words won’t leave me alone.
I crawl back into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin like a child hiding from monsters. My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it and check the screen.
It’s a text. Unknown number.
I open it.
“Watching you sleep is my favorite part.”
I drop the phone like it’s on fire. My heart leaps into my throat, and I feel the blood drain from my face.
The note wasn’t just a warning.
It was a promise.
- Writer
