The Stranger’s Watchful Eyes
The cold evening wind brushed against the shutters of Emily’s house as she stepped inside, her thoughts still drifting back to the bookshop.
The warmth of her encounter with Adrian lingered like a soft glow in her chest — but so did something else.
A feeling she couldn’t quite name.
Something watched.
Something followed.
She shook the thought away as she set her bag down, but her body remained tense, alert in a way she wasn’t used to.
Her mother sat at the dining table, a cup of tea in hand. The faint ache in her eyes — a chronic exhaustion — made Emily pause.
“You’re home late,” her mother said.
“Bookshop,” Emily replied with a small smile. “I… met a friend.”
“A friend?”
Her mother’s voice lifted, surprised — but beneath it, something like unease flickered.
“His name is Adrian,” Emily continued, trying to sound casual. “We talked. He seems… nice.”
Her mother’s hand tightened around her cup. “Emily… listen to me. Be careful of people you don’t know.”
The sharpness in her tone didn’t match the gentle woman Emily grew up with.
“Mom, it’s just a conversation,” Emily said softly. “You’re worrying too much.”
Her mother opened her mouth to respond, but she seemed to think better of it. Instead, she stood abruptly and walked toward the kitchen.
Emily frowned.
Her mother rarely reacted so intensely — unless something touched a memory she didn’t want to revisit. And lately, ever since the attic box appeared, she had been holding too many secrets behind her tired eyes.
Emily followed her into the kitchen.
“Mom? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” her mother said too quickly. “Just… keep your distance from him. Please.”
There was fear in her voice.
Real fear.
Emily’s brows drew together. “Do you know him?”
Her mother froze — only for a second, but long enough.
“Of course not,” she said. “But strangers can be dangerous.”
Emily didn’t push further. Not tonight. But something inside her shifted.
Her mother knew something.
Something she wasn’t saying.
Across town, a window opened.
The stranger leaned out slightly, pulling binoculars down from their eyes. The glass lenses still held the faint reflection of Emily walking into her home.
They scribbled in a small notebook:
“Target located. Pattern confirmed.”
A dim lamp glowed behind them, illuminating an old cork board plastered with faded photographs, maps, handwritten notes, and a single newspaper clipping dated 1997.
A tragedy forgotten by most.
A tragedy that connected to Emily — though she didn’t know it yet.
The stranger circled a name on the board.
Adrian Hale.
Under it, a second name:
Emily Rivers.
Then, written in jagged ink beneath both:
If they meet, the truth resurfaces. Stop it.
The stranger closed the notebook, slipped it into a coat pocket, and headed out into the night.
They had one task.
And they had already failed once.
Back at Emily’s home…
Her sister Claire returned late, breathless, kicking off her shoes as though she’d run the last few steps.
“Em? Mom?” Claire called out.
Emily peeked over the staircase railing. “Up here.”
Claire climbed up quickly. Her face was flushed, her eyes bright with worry.
“I think someone followed me,” she whispered the moment she reached the landing.
Emily’s heart lurched. “What? Are you sure?”
Claire nodded, trembling slightly. “All the way from the café to the bus stop. They kept their hood up. And when I finally turned to confront them… they vanished.”
Emily took her hands gently. “It’s okay. You’re probably tired.”
“No,” Claire said firmly, shaking her head. “I’m telling you, Em, it wasn’t imagination.”
This wasn’t like Claire. She rarely exaggerated anything.
Before Emily could respond, their mother’s voice floated up from downstairs.
“Girls? Is everything alright?”
Claire forced a smile and replied, “Yes, Mom!”
Then under her breath to Emily: “Don’t tell her. She’ll panic.”
Emily nodded.
But inside, a cold knot formed.
Two strange encounters.
Two warnings.
Two shadows.
It couldn’t be coincidence.
Night deepened. Silence stretched.
The house slept.
Except Emily.
She lay awake, staring at the ceiling. The attic box flashed in her mind. The old letters. The necklace. The photograph of her mother holding a stranger’s hand — a man Emily did not know.
A man who looked uncannily like…
No.
It couldn’t be.
She sat up, rubbing her face.
The urge to talk to Adrian tugged at her. She didn’t know why — maybe because he listened, maybe because he noticed things, maybe because something about him felt like the missing piece of a puzzle she hadn’t realized she was solving.
She reached for her phone, then stopped.
3:12 AM.
Too late to call.
Too early to pretend this was normal.
A sudden sound cut through the night.
A soft crackling outside her window. A faint rustle.
Emily froze.
She moved slowly to the window, pulling back the curtain an inch.
Her breath caught.
Across the street stood a figure.
Still.
Facing her house.
Not moving.
Not hiding.
Just watching.
Emily stepped back quickly, heart pounding. She pressed her back against the wall, trying to steady her breathing.
The house was silent again.
After several minutes she peeked through the curtain once more.
The figure was gone.
But something else remained — tucked on the front porch, against the railing:
A small folded note.
Emily swallowed hard.
She didn’t open the door. Not yet. Instead, she stared at the note from behind the safety of the locked glass.
The paper was rough. Old. Weathered.
And there was one sentence scrawled across it:
“You are not safe. Stay away from him.”
Her blood turned cold.
She didn’t need to ask who “him” referred to.
She knew.
Adrian.
In the quiet dark miles away…
Adrian stood alone in his rented room, staring at an old photograph of a little girl holding a wooden moon pendant — the same shape as the one he bought at the market.
He touched the edges of the photograph gently.
“I’m close,” he whispered.
But something in his eyes wasn’t just longing.
It was fear.