Sleep did not come easily that night.
Damian lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, his mind replaying the events of the evening. The footsteps. The fleeting shadow. The overwhelming sensation of being watched. Every logical part of him screamed that it was just exhaustion, that his imagination was getting the best of him. But instinct—something deeper, more primal—told him otherwise.
Something had been there. Something had followed him.
The alarm clock on his nightstand blinked 3:12 AM in bright red digits. He sighed, rubbing his eyes before sitting up. If he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well grab some water and clear his head.
Sliding out of bed, he padded quietly to the kitchen. The apartment was small, barely enough for one person, but it was home. The dim glow from the city lights outside cast long shadows across the floor as he filled a glass from the sink.
Then—movement.
His grip on the glass tightened.
The sensation hit him again, stronger this time. A cold prickle ran down his spine, the unmistakable feeling of unseen eyes boring into him. Slowly, he turned toward the window.
For a moment, there was nothing. Just the usual view of the street below, dimly lit by flickering streetlights. But then—there.
A figure.
Standing across the street, motionless in the shadows of a building. Too far to make out any details, but Damian could feel it. Whoever—or whatever—it was, it was watching him.
His breath caught in his throat as the figure moved. Not walking, not shifting—but disappearing. One moment it was there, the next it was simply gone, as if it had melted into the darkness.
Damian's heartbeat thundered in his ears.
His body screamed at him to step back, to hide, to call someone—anyone—but he remained frozen, staring out into the empty street.
A trick of the light? No. He had seen it. And more than that, he had felt it.
A shiver crawled through him as he set the glass down and rubbed his face. Get a grip, Damian. Maybe he really was losing it. Maybe stress, lack of sleep, and whatever childhood abandonment issues he hadn't dealt with were messing with his mind.
But no matter how much he tried to rationalize it, the unease refused to fade.
Something was wrong.
And whatever it was, it wasn't finished with him yet.
The next morning, the world carried on as if nothing had happened.
Damian trudged through the city streets on his way to campus, the events of the night before still lingering in the back of his mind. The early morning rush filled the air with honking cars, hurried footsteps, and the chatter of people going about their lives. Normal. Ordinary. A stark contrast to the eerie silence of the night.
As he stepped into Blackwood University's main building, he forced himself to shake off the lingering paranoia. He had classes to get through, assignments to finish. Whatever last night had been, it was over.
Or so he thought.
The first half of the day passed uneventfully, but the feeling of unease never fully left him. It clung to him like a second skin, making him hyper-aware of his surroundings. Every whisper of movement, every flicker of a shadow, sent a jolt through his nerves.
Then, in the middle of his economics lecture, it happened again.
A presence.
Not just watching this time—closer.
His pulse quickened as he turned his head slightly, scanning the rows of students behind him. Everything seemed normal. But the moment his gaze landed on the far-left corner of the lecture hall, his breath hitched.
There, seated in the shadows, was a man he had never seen before.
Tall. Dressed in black. His features were sharp, almost unnatural in their symmetry. But it was his eyes that sent ice through Damian's veins—dark, unreadable, locked onto him with an intensity that felt suffocating.
Damian swallowed hard and forced himself to look away. His fingers clenched into fists beneath the desk. Who is he? Why is he looking at me like that?
The lecture droned on, but Damian barely heard a word. The weight of the stranger's stare was crushing. He could feel it burrowing into him, as if peeling away his skin, his very existence, layer by layer.
Then, as suddenly as it had come, it was gone.
Damian's breath hitched. Cautiously, he turned his head again—only to find the seat empty.
The man was gone.
No movement. No footsteps. Just an empty chair, as if he had never been there at all.
A chill ran through Damian's bones.
Something was happening.
And he was no longer sure he wanted to know what.