The air was cool, tinged with the scent of wet leaves and diesel from a far-off bus. It was the kind of quiet that felt thick, watchful.

You'd taken this route a hundred times. It was shorter than the main road, cutting through the back of the old housing estate.

Tonight, the familiar shortcut felt wrong.

The sound of your own footsteps was too loud. And then, there was a second rhythm. A heavier tread, falling in sync with yours just a beat too late. Starting when you started, stopping when you stopped.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up.

Skirt. Skirt. Skirt. Your keys. You fumbled for them in your jacket pocket, fingers closing around the cold metal. Your heart hammered against your ribs.

Don't look back. You'd heard that. Heard you weren't supposed to look back. But your feet had already slowed, your head already turning.

A figure stood twenty yards back. A man. Tall, in a dark coat, his hands shoved in his pockets. He was just standing there under the halogen glow, a spill of messy curls obscuring his face. He didn't look away. He just… watched.

You faced forward again, walking faster. The footsteps resumed, faster too.

Your phone felt heavy and alive in your hand. Before you could think, you were opening it, swiping blindly to your contacts, scrolling down the list with a shaking thumb. You didn't look at the name. You just pressed the first male name you saw.

It rang once. Twice.