A D E L I N E

Again.

Roses.

I don't have to open my eyes to know they're here. The scent gives them away-thick, sweet, cloying. It lingers in the air, pressing against my skin like a presence.

But something feels different this time. Heavier. Stronger.

The first rose had been left outside my door. The second-on the other side of my bed. Close. Too close.

And now... this.

My breath tightens in my chest as I blink awake.

Roses. Everywhere.

Not just one. Not a handful. But hundreds.

They spill from the table, line the windowsills, and cover the floor in scattered petals-deep crimson against the soft cream of my rug.

My fingers clutch the sheets. A sharp inhale. My pulse pounds.

This isn't a quiet gesture.

This is a statement.

A slow, creeping unease unfurls in my stomach as my gaze flicks to the door. Still locked. The windows? Shut. No broken glass. No signs of forced entry.

Yet someone was here.

And then I see it.

A single red rose, set apart from the rest.

On my nightstand.

Next to it-a neatly folded piece of paper.

My chest tightens as I reach for it, my fingers hesitant. There was never a note before. No message. Just silent offerings, left for me to find.

But this time...

I unfold the paper, my breath catching as my eyes scan the small, precise handwriting.

"I'll be seeing you soon, little writer."



A chill dances down my spine. Little writer.

The first rose had been a mystery. The second-a quiet intrusion. But this?

This is deliberate. Personal. Undeniable.

And the worst part?

Somewhere beneath the fear curling in my gut...

I think they knew I'd be waiting for it.

My fingers tighten around my phone as I sit on the edge of my bed, my breath uneven. The note lies beside me, taunting in its simplicity.

I'll be seeing you soon, little writer.

A shiver runs down my spine.

I can't be alone right now.

Swallowing hard, I tap Daya's contact and press call. The phone rings once. Twice.

She picks up on the third.

"What the hell, Addie? It's early."

I open my mouth, but no words come out. A lump forms in my throat, my mind racing. I don't even know what to say.

"Addie?" Her voice sharpens. "Why aren't you saying anything? What's wrong?"

I inhale shakily, gripping the phone tighter. "Can you come over?"

A pause. Then, "Are you okay?"

No.

"Just... please, Daya." My voice is quieter than I want it to be. Weak. "I need you here."

Another pause. Then, without hesitation-

"I'm on my way."

The call disconnects.

I stare at the screen for a long moment before setting the phone down. My heart is still pounding, my skin too tight, too aware of every shadow in the room.

Minutes crawl by. I sit frozen, my arms wrapped around myself, ears straining for any sound beyond my own ragged breaths.

Finally, a sharp knock at the door.

I jolt, my body tensing before I remember-Daya.

Practically stumbling off the bed, I rush to the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers. The second it swings open, she steps inside, her gaze immediately scanning my face.

"You look like hell," she says, tossing her bag onto the couch. Then her eyes narrow. "Wait. What happened now?"

That reaction makes my stomach tighten. She already knows something's wrong. Maybe because of the look on my face. Or maybe because of the roses.

I don't say anything, just step back and motion toward the room.

Daya follows my gaze-then stops.

Her usual easy smirk falters as she takes it all in. The sheer number of roses. The scattered petals. The way they overwhelm the space.

She exhales sharply, dragging a hand through her dark curls.

"Okay, so... this is definitely a step up from last time."

I swallow. "This isn't a step. This is a fucking leap."

She doesn't argue. Her brows pinch together, and she moves toward the flowers, plucking a petal between her fingers. "So your stalker's getting bold, huh?"

I tense. "Don't call them that."

Daya tilts her head. "What else do you call someone who keeps sending you gifts inside your locked apartment?"

I don't have an answer for that.

Her gaze drifts across the room again, then lands on my nightstand. On the single red rose. On the folded note beside it.

Her expression shifts. "Shit. They left a note?"

I nod, wrapping my arms around myself. "First time."

Daya hesitates, then picks up the paper, unfolding it. She reads the words aloud.

"I'll be seeing you soon, little writer."

A slow exhale.

Then she looks at me, and for the first time, there's no teasing in her voice. No sarcasm. Just sharp-edged concern.

"Addie. This isn't funny anymore."

I let out a hollow laugh. "It was never funny."

Daya sighs, rubbing her temple. "Did you call anyone? The landlord? The police?"

I shake my head. "And say what? Hi, someone broke into my apartment to give me flowers?"

Daya presses her lips together, exhaling sharply. "Okay, valid point. But still, Addie... this isn't normal."

No, it isn't. And yet...

A shiver crawls down my spine, but it's not entirely from fear.

It's something else.

Something I don't want to name.

Because whoever did this-they knew what they were doing.

They left no evidence. No damage. No threats.

Just a promise.

And the worst part?

I believe them.

Daya sits on the couch, the note still in her hand, her fingers curling around the edges like she's debating whether to crumple it. Her usual sharp confidence is there, but beneath it, I can see something else.

Worry.

"I don't like this," she mutters, scanning the room again. "Like, at all."

"Yeah," I say dryly, sinking onto the armrest of a chair. "You and me both."

She looks back at me, her gaze unreadable for a beat before she says, "This is the third time, Addie."

I know. I know that too well.

First, the rose outside my door. Then, the one on the other side of my bed. Now this. A whole damn garden blooming overnight in my locked apartment.

But this time, it's different. This time, they left a message.

And I don't know what's worse-the fact that they were here, or the fact that they want me to know it.

I rub my arms, trying to shake off the cold creeping under my skin. "I don't get it," I murmur. "Why roses? Why now?"

Daya scoffs. "Who cares why? The how is the problem." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "I mean, think about it. How the hell did they even get in? There's no forced entry. No cameras disabled. No broken locks. What, did they pick the damn thing?"

My stomach tightens. "Or they have a key."

The words taste wrong, even as they leave my mouth.

Daya stills. Then, slowly, she shakes her head. "No. No fucking way. Who even has a key to your apartment?"

"No one," I whisper.

At least, no one that I know of.

For the first time, real fear sinks its claws into me. This isn't some secret admirer leaving gifts outside my door. This is someone who's been inside while I was sleeping. Someone who knows my apartment well enough to come and go without a trace.

Daya watches me carefully. "You should crash at my place tonight," she says, voice softer now. "Just until we figure out what's going on."

I open my mouth to agree-because she's right, because it makes sense-but something stops me.

A flicker of something deep in my chest.

I think about the note.

I don't know who left it. I don't know what they want.

But for some reason... I don't want to leave.

The thought unnerves me. I should be scared. And I am. But beneath that fear, something else stirs. Something dark. Something I don't want to name.

I swallow hard, pushing the feeling down.

"I'm fine," I say, forcing my voice to sound steady. "Really."

Daya gives me a look, but she doesn't argue. Not yet. Instead, she stands, stretching her arms over her head. "Alright, but if I get a call in the middle of the night about you getting kidnapped, I'm gonna be pissed."

A weak laugh slips from me. "Good to know your priorities."

She winks. "Obviously."

I exhale, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. Daya's here. I'm not alone. And maybe, when she leaves, this will all feel less... ominous.

But deep down, I know the truth.

This isn't over.

Not even close.

---

The Night Feels Different

Sleep doesn't come easily.

I toss and turn, my body tense beneath the covers. The darkness of my apartment doesn't feel the same anymore. It's heavier, pressing down on me like a ghostly hand wrapped around my throat.

I keep telling myself I'm safe.

The doors are locked. The windows are shut. No one is here.

And yet...

My skin prickles. That feeling creeps back-the same one I had when I first woke up. The feeling of eyes.

Watching.

Waiting.

Claiming.

I exhale sharply, flipping onto my back and staring at the ceiling. Maybe it's just my mind playing tricks on me. Maybe my brain is spiraling because of the damn note.

But my body knows better.

Something is wrong.

My heart pounds harder as I shift my gaze toward the window. The curtains are drawn, the city lights barely peeking through the fabric. I sit up slowly, my breath held hostage in my lungs.

It takes me a second to gather the nerve, but eventually, I throw the covers back and step out of bed, the cold air biting against my bare legs. Each step toward the window is hesitant, my hands clammy as I reach for the curtain.

I hesitate.

What if someone is out there?

The thought is ridiculous-I live too high up for that. But still, my pulse thrums in my ears as I pull the curtain back.

Nothing.

Just the city below. Just the glow of streetlights, the occasional car passing by.

I exhale slowly, pressing my forehead against the cool glass. "You're being paranoid," I whisper to myself. "Get a grip."

But then...

A shift in the shadows.

A figure.

Dark. Unmoving.

Watching.

My stomach drops. My breath stalls in my throat as my gaze locks onto the shape standing across the street, just beyond the glow of the streetlights. It's too far to make out details, but I know.

I know it's him.

The presence behind the roses. Behind the note. Behind everything.

A shiver licks down my spine as I take a slow step back. My heart hammers, my brain screaming at me to look away, to turn off the lights, to pretend I never saw anything.

But I can't.

Because even from this distance, even with nothing but shadows between us, I can feel it.

He's smiling.

And worst of all...

So am I.

A sharp vibration shakes me from my trance.

I tear my gaze away from the window, pulse hammering as I fumble for my phone on the nightstand. The glow of the screen illuminates the darkness, and my breath stutters the moment I see it.

UNKNOWN: YOU DIDN'T LIKE MY FLOWERS?

A fresh wave of ice spreads through my veins. My fingers tighten around the phone, my mind spinning in a thousand directions.

He knows.

He knows I saw them. He knows I read the note. He knows I'm awake. And he's still watching me.

My heart slams against my ribs as I whip my head back toward the window. The figure hasn't moved. Still cloaked in shadows. Still watching.

I should ignore it. Block the number. Call someone. Call Daya. Call the police. Call-

Instead, my fingers move on their own, tapping out a message before I can stop myself.

ME: WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?

I hit send before I can think twice. My breathing is sharp, uneven, as I watch the message deliver.

The dots appear instantly.

He was waiting.

I swear my pulse stops as the new text flashes across my screen.

UNKNOWN: SUCH FILTHY WORDS FROM SUCH PRETTY LIPS.

A breath shudders out of me. My stomach clenches, my skin burning hot and ice cold all at once. My fingers hover over the keyboard. I should say something. Demand answers. Threaten him.

But before I can type, another message appears.

UNKNOWN: SEE YOU SOON, BABY.

A wave of nausea twists in my gut. My hands tighten around my phone, but my fingers feel numb, cold. He called me baby. He's toying with me. Pushing, waiting to see how I'll react.

My jaw clenches as I type back, each letter hitting the screen harder than the last.

ME: FUCK OFF.

I send it without thinking, my pulse hammering in my ears. A beat of silence. Then-

The dots appear again.

My breath stalls.

UNKNOWN: SUCH A FILTHY MOUTH.

The next message comes almost instantly.

UNKNOWN: I WONDER HOW IT WOULD SOUND MOANING MY NAME.

Asshole.

A shiver races through me, pooling heat and ice in my stomach. My throat tightens, fingers stiff around my phone as if gripping it hard enough will make him disappear.

I snap my head back toward the window.

The street below is empty.

The shadows have swallowed him whole.

My breath comes fast and shallow. I scan the street, searching, pleading for a trick of the light, for something that tells me I imagined it.

But there's nothing.

Like he was never there.

But he was.

And now I know he's not just watching me.

He's playing with me.

And I have a sinking feeling he's only just begun.

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