A THREAT IN PLAIN SIGHT
1016 Words
Chapter 16
Elena read the words again, as if repetition might somehow change them.
He can’t protect you.
The ink looked rushed, jagged, almost carved into the page. Whoever had written it hadn’t cared about neatness—they’d cared about impact. About fear. And it worked.
Her hands shook as she crumpled the paper, then quickly smoothed it flat again, unsure whether to throw it away, hide it, or keep it as proof. Proof of what, though? That Damian’s world was real? That the shadows around her weren’t just paranoia but flesh and bone, watching, waiting?
She shut her door quickly, twisting the lock until it clicked twice, then pressed her back against it.
For a long time, she didn’t move.
Eventually, muscle memory carried her into her morning routine—shower, coffee, clothes—but everything felt different now. Fragile, like the floor beneath her could collapse at any second. When she brushed her hair, her eyes kept flicking to the window, half expecting that shadow to be waiting. When she pulled on her jacket, she felt like she was layering armor over skin.
The world outside looked the same as always. The corner café’s chairs were being set out, the bakery below sent curls of sugar-sweet air into the street, and a neighbor was watering the plants on her balcony. But to Elena, the colors were sharper, harsher. The air itself felt charged, as if she were walking inside a storm cloud.
At the bookstore, she tried to lose herself in work. The familiar smell of paper, the soft creak of wooden floors, the endless order of alphabetized shelves—it should have grounded her. But even here, where she had always felt safe, her eyes kept darting to the door each time the bell chimed.
Every stranger felt like a threat. Every lingering glance felt like surveillance.
By noon, she had dropped three stacks of books and fumbled her words with two customers. Her boss gave her a concerned look.
“Long night?” He asked kindly.
Elena forced a tight smile. “Something like that.”
When the bell chimed again, she flinched. Her hands gripped the counter until her knuckles whitened. Relief surged when the customer turned out to be an elderly woman with a tote bag full of dog-eared romance novels.
But that relief didn’t last.
Because as the afternoon stretched on, Elena noticed something she hadn’t before.
Across the street, a man leaned casually against a lamppost, pretending to scroll his phone. She wouldn’t have thought twice about it—except that every time she glanced up from her work, his head tilted just slightly in her direction. Watching.
Her pulse spiked.
She forced herself not to stare, not to give away her panic. But her mind raced. Was he the same man from the bookstore the other day—the one who’d warned her about Damian? Or someone else?
She turned her attention back to the counter, pretending to adjust the stack of books beside the register, and slipped her phone into her hand.
Her thumb hovered over Damian’s number. She had it memorized now, even though she hadn't initiated a call to him before.
She should tell him. She should tell him about the footsteps, about the note, about the man outside.
Just then, her phone vibrated suddenly, making her jump. She glanced down. A text from an unknown number.
Her stomach dropped as she opened it.
You don’t belong with him.
No name. No context. Just that.
Her vision blurred; the letters swimming as adrenaline surged through her veins. She looked up sharply, and her eyes met the man across the street. This time, he didn’t bother pretending to scroll his phone. He was looking directly at her.
Deliberately.
Predator’s patience.
Elena’s hands shook so hard she nearly dropped her phone. She ducked her head, pretending to busy herself with the register, but her mind was spiraling.
If she told Damian, what would he do? She already knew the answer. He’d call it a threat. He’d call it a mistake that needed to be “taken care of.” And the coldness in his voice when he said things like that terrified her almost as much as the threats themselves.
But if she didn’t tell him—if she tried to handle this alone—she wasn’t sure she’d survive it.
The bell above the door chimed again, pulling her from her spiraling thoughts. She looked up—and her heart seized.
The man from across the street had stepped inside.
He moved slowly, casually, as though he belonged here. He brushed his fingers along the spines of books, eyes never really leaving her.
Elena forced her voice steady. “Can I… help you with something?”
The man smiled faintly, his lips curving but his eyes sharp, unblinking.
“No,” he said. “I just wanted to see what kind of stories people like you keep close.”
Her mouth went dry.
“People like me?” she managed.
The man tilted his head. “People who don’t realize they’re living in someone else’s.”
The words chilled her to her core.
Before she could respond, he plucked a book from the shelf at random, flipped it open, then set it back. With one last, deliberate look, he walked out, the bell chiming cheerfully as if mocking her.
Elena’s knees nearly gave out. She gripped the counter, struggling to breathe.
This wasn’t paranoia anymore. It wasn’t whispers. It was here, in her store, in her life.
And as much as she didn’t want to admit it, there was only one person who could stand between her and whatever darkness was closing in.
Damian.
But the words from the note wouldn’t leave her.
He can’t protect you.
- Writer
