You’d felt it for weeks. The prickle on the back of your neck in crowded places. The sense of a gaze holding a beat too long. You told yourself it was paranoia. Until tonight.

The bathroom door swung shut behind you, cutting the music to a muffled throb. The silence in the tiled room was sudden, and heavy.

When you stepped back out, he was there. Leaning against the opposite wall, as if he’d been waiting. A man in a dark hoodie, his face half in shadow.