Its was a Quiet Night, Full moon, Slight wind ,pitch dark.....when Emily saw susan she walked towards her but emily's footsteps were unsteady, the gravel crunching beneath them just slightly out of rhythm. She tried to walk with confidence, chin lifted, arms relaxed, but the fear in her body betrayed her. Every step was stiff, every breath too shallow, and the closer she came, the more her voice shook even before she began speaking.
"Hey… I've been calling you," she said, attempting a smile too wide to be real. "I got worried."
The shift in Dexter was instantaneous. In class, he wore a polite calmness — a warmth that wasn't truly warm but passed as it. Here, that false warmth dropped away. What replaced it was colder, heavier, and far more dangerous. His expression wasn't hostile. It was hollow, polite only in shape, not in meaning.
"Good evening, Emily," Dexter said. His tone was smooth, clean, almost gentlemanly. "You shouldn't be walking around here alone. It's not safe."
On the surface, it sounded like concern. But beneath the surface, there was something else — something that made both girls shiver without knowing why.
Emily swallowed. Her fingers twitched against the hem of her hoodie. "I, um… I texted Susan. She didn't answer. So I tracked her location. I thought she might be… in trouble."
Dexter smiled.
It was soft, controlled, perfectly practiced. A smile engineered for comfort. But his eyes didn't match. They didn't soften. They didn't acknowledge the smile at all. It was the expression of someone copying what friendliness is supposed to look like.
"How responsible of you," he said. "I'm impressed."
The words felt wrong — like a compliment sharpened into a blade.
Susan stepped between them instinctively. "Emily, let's go."
Dexter didn't step back or block them. He only tilted his head slightly, watching with interest — the way a researcher might observe a new reaction in a lab.
"Leaving already?" His voice was quiet, almost amused. "We were just talking."
The air thickened. Emily looked from Susan to Dexter, trying to understand the energy between them. She laughed, awkward and thin. "Talking about what?"
Susan shot her a warning look — a desperate, silent plea to say nothing more.
But Emily didn't see the danger. She was nervous, not cautious. She filled the tension with the first joke that came to mind.
"Oh come on," Emily said, elbowing Susan lightly. "Everyone knows Susan has a crush on you."
Silence dropped like a stone.
Dexter turned his eyes to Susan, not to Emily. He wasn't shocked. He wasn't flattered. He wasn't amused. His stare was analytical — silent gears turning, processing the sentence, the tone, the body language, the implications. He wasn't reacting to the words. He was gathering information from them.
"So that's what everyone knows," he said.
Something twisted in Susan's stomach. The conversation had slid onto something sharp — something that could cut if either of them pushed too hard.
"Emily's just joking," Susan tried to say, but her voice wavered, and the crack in her tone gave away more than her words hid.
Dexter didn't look away. His gaze sharpened, studying the tremble in her voice, the tension in her shoulders, the small shift of her stance. He stored the information — she could feel him doing it.
Then he turned to Emily.
"Do you usually follow Susan everywhere?" he asked.
Emily forced a laugh again, misreading the moment. "Only when she sneaks around at night to meet men."
Wrong joke.
Wrong tone.
Wrong person.
Dexter's eyes darkened — not with anger, but with something far more terrifying: assessment. A switch flipping in his mind. A new variable added to the equation.
"You shouldn't make accusations when you don't know what's happening," he said quietly.
It wasn't a threat. It was a warning wearing civilized clothing.
Emily froze. She finally sensed it — the danger. The alley suddenly felt too silent, too narrow, too far away from help.
"Susan," she whispered, "let's go."
Susan grabbed her wrist, pulling her back toward the street, her steps fast and uneven. Dexter didn't stop them. He didn't move. He didn't call out.
He just watched.
Still. Calm. Eyes tracking them like a hunter does not need to chase — because he knows exactly where the prey will run.
When they reached the main road, Emily ripped her wrist free.
"What the hell was that?" she hissed, breathing hard. "Why are you meeting him behind an abandoned library? At night?"
Susan couldn't answer. Not because she didn't want to — because she didn't know how to explain it. Words wouldn't make sense of the truth.
"He's not normal," Emily whispered. "The way he looked at me—"
"I know," Susan snapped. It came out too loud.
"I know he's not normal."
Emily swallowed, stepping back as though Susan had become someone unfamiliar. "Then why are you talking to him?"
Because he sees me. Because he notices things no one else notices. Because he feels dangerous and magnetic and wrong, and I can't look away. Because I want to understand him, and I don't know why.
She didn't say any of that.
She only said, "Don't tell anyone."
Emily stared at her in disbelief — hurt flickering across her face like something quietly shattering.
"You're defending him," she whispered. "Susan… this could get bad. Really bad."
Before Susan could reply, her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
One message.
You brought someone. That wasn't part of the deal.
Her lungs locked. Her heartbeat stuttered.
Another message arrived immediately after.
You owe me another meeting. Alone.
Emily leaned in to read and went pale.
"Block him," she whispered. "Right now. Susan, block him."
But Susan couldn't move.
Because another text appeared.
I don't like being followed. Bad things happen when people interfere.
Then the screen shifted — an image loading.
It wasn't a picture of her.
It wasn't a picture of Emily.
It was her house.
Taken from across the street.
At night.
The porch light glowing weakly.
The living room curtains half drawn.
Her mother's car in the driveway.
Emily covered her mouth, eyes filling with fear. "Oh my god…"
Susan's hands shook so violently she almost dropped the phone.
The typing dots appeared again.
Another message.
I don't think your mother will welcome me,
It's been a long time...
No emojis.
No punctuation errors.
No hint of emotion.
Just a promise.
Not of love.
Of danger.
Susan felt something inside her — something cold and primal — snap awake. A fear unlike anything she had felt before. The kind that didn't make you run.
The kind that made you realize running was pointless.
Because he already knew where she lived.
And he didn't intend to stay in the shadows forever.