I felt him before I saw him.
Like a shift in the air — heavier, sharper — a warning my body recognized before my mind did.
The hallway was crowded, but somehow he wasn't part of it. He moved differently, too steady, too aware. Everyone else was noise; he was the silence between it.
At first, I thought he was just looking at me. But then I realized — no, he was watching me. Like he'd been doing it long before this moment.
When our eyes locked, I forgot how to keep moving. His gaze didn't just touch me, it held me, like he was flipping through the pages of a book only he could read. My book.
I turned away. I shouldn't have.
Because when I passed him, he spoke.
"Meg Blackwood."
My name. My real name.
I didn't know whether to stop or run.
I kept walking.
But my heart didn't.