Adrian
Marcus doesn’t leave.
That’s his first mistake.
Men like him rely on fear as distance — they provoke, then retreat, forcing their target to sit in uncertainty. But he doesn’t retreat. He lingers. Watches. Waits.
That gives me something to work with.
I stand at the window long after Elara steps away, tracking every subtle movement of the car across the street. The engine idles unevenly now. Heat distortion shifts the air above the hood. He’s still inside.
Still watching.
Still convinced he has control.
Behind me, I can feel Elara’s presence without looking. Her breathing has steadied, but not completely. The fear hasn’t left her.
It’s changed.
Focused now.
Sharpened.
Good.
Fear, when directed properly, becomes awareness.
I turn from the window slowly.
“He hasn’t moved.
