I did not answer the message.
That was the first decision I made.
Most people feel an urge to respond when someone reaches out to them. Silence makes them uncomfortable. They want to fill it quickly, even if they do not know what to say.
But silence can be useful.
Silence forces the other person to make the next move.
The words stayed on my screen for a long time.
Still watching.
I read them again and again, not because I was afraid, but because I wanted to understand what kind of person would send something like that.
The message did not sound angry.
It did not sound playful either.
It sounded calm.
Almost patient.
That was what made it interesting.
I slipped the phone into my pocket and finished the rest of lunch without speaking. Across the table, Leo ate slowly, occasionally glancing at the crowd in the cafeteria.
He seemed relaxed.
Too relaxed.
When someone new enters a place like Westbridge High, they usually try to fit in quickly. They laugh loudly. They join conversations. They make themselves noticeable.
Leo did none of those things.
Instead, he watched.
Just like I did.
That alone made him unusual.
When the bell rang for the next class, students began pushing their trays away and standing up in groups. Chairs scraped against the floor and conversations overlapped again.
Leo stood and picked up his bag.
For a moment he looked like he might say something else.
Instead he only nodded slightly in my direction before walking away.
Simple.
Casual.
But deliberate.
I stayed seated for a few seconds longer, letting the crowd thin out before leaving the cafeteria.
In the hallway the noise returned instantly. Students moved from class to class in a constant stream, their voices echoing off the lockers.
Everything looked normal.
But my mind was busy.
Patterns were forming.
Two things had happened in the past twenty four hours that did not fit the usual rhythm of my life.
The message.
And Leo.
Both of them were new variables.
Both of them required attention.
I turned the corner toward my locker and stopped.
Evan Parker stood nearby with two of his friends, arguing loudly about something that sounded like a basketball game. One of them laughed so hard he nearly dropped his backpack.
Predictable.
People like Evan filled the space around them with noise. They believed attention belonged to them.
That belief made them careless.
As I opened my locker, I noticed something small.
Evan had left his phone on the bench beside the lockers.
Completely unattended.
I watched him for a moment.
He had not noticed.
His friends had not noticed either.
It was a simple mistake.
But simple mistakes can change things.
I closed my locker slowly and walked past the bench.
My hand moved naturally, almost without thinking.
The phone disappeared into my sleeve for a second before resting quietly in my hand.
No one looked.
No one reacted.
Evan kept talking.
I continued walking down the hallway.
The entire movement took less than three seconds.
When I reached the stairwell, I paused and looked at the phone.
Locked.
Of course.
Most people protect their devices, but they rarely protect them well.
A quick glance at the screen revealed something useful.
Several message notifications.
A group chat.
And a password attempt limit.
Interesting.
I placed the phone inside my bag.
Not to steal it.
That would be messy.
Messy actions create consequences.
No, this was simply an opportunity.
An experiment.
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly.
Classes came and went. Teachers explained lessons most students barely listened to. The familiar rhythm of school continued like it always did.
But I noticed something new.
Leo seemed to appear often.
Not in an obvious way.
Just enough.
Once in the hallway.
Once near the stairwell.
Once outside the library.
Each time his eyes drifted in my direction briefly before moving on.
Observing.
Testing.
By the final bell, the rain had stopped completely.
Students poured out of the building in loud waves, relieved that the school day had ended.
I walked home at my usual pace.
Not too fast.
Not too slow.
Routine matters.
Inside my apartment, the quiet wrapped around me like a blanket.
I dropped my bag on the desk and took Evan's phone out.
The screen lit up immediately.
Still locked.
I sat down and studied it.
There are many ways to open a door.
Some require force.
Others require patience.
I tried the simplest method first.
Four numbers.
The most common patterns are obvious.
Birthdays.
Repeating digits.
Straight lines on the keypad.
The first two attempts failed.
The third one worked.
The phone unlocked.
People often make things easier than they realize.
I opened the message notifications.
The group chat filled the screen instantly.
Evan and four other boys.
Most of the conversation was useless. Jokes. Complaints. Plans for the weekend.
Then something caught my eye.
A message sent earlier that morning.
A screenshot.
Three words on a dark screen.
I see you.
My message.
Evan had received it too.
Below the screenshot, one of the boys had written something.
Who sent this
Another message appeared beneath it.
No idea but it is creepy
Then Evan had replied.
Probably just someone messing around
I leaned back in my chair slowly.
So it was not just me.
Interesting.
That meant two things.
Either someone was sending the same message to multiple people.
Or someone wanted me to believe that.
I locked the phone again and placed it on the desk.
My thoughts moved quickly.
If someone truly was watching me, they were careful.
Careful people are difficult to predict.
But not impossible.
My phone vibrated again.
Another message.
Unknown number.
I picked it up slowly.
The new words appeared on the screen.
Did you find the pattern yet
For the first time that day, I smiled.
Because whoever was behind these messages had just made a mistake.
They assumed I was still trying to understand the game.
But I already knew something important.
They were watching me.
Which meant I could watch them too.