I steady my breath, and as I run the coolness of the blade across my fingertip, I audibly exhale. On my next inhale, I mentally prepare myself for what comes next, and then I slow my pace and wait. I listen as he slows too and switches up his pace. But with each step forward, I sense him there, lurking in the shadows not far behind, just as I was trying to do, and the thought of him watching excites me. I can feel he’s holding back while I’m ready to get on with it, and so I stop abruptly and turn—only there’s no one there. At least, not that I can see. But he’s there. I can feel him. For a second, I’m angry, and I imagine taking my blade and shoving it into his hesitant little neck, twisting slightly on the way in. Because whoever he is—he’s rudely interrupting my plans, and he’s being sl
