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I was sitting on my bed, scrolling mindlessly through my phone, trying to drown out the whirlwind of thoughts in my head. The screen's glow cast a pale light over my hands, the only illumination in the darkened room. I wasn't looking for anything in particular—just something, anything, to keep my mind from spiraling.

Then a notification popped up.

Not a text.

Not a call.

An email.

I almost ignored it. It was probably spam. Some useless newsletter I'd forgotten to unsubscribe from. But as my thumb hovered over the screen, I noticed the subject line.

**Subject: You Thought It Was Over?**

A chill raced up my spine, my body stiffening as dread curled in my stomach like a tightening noose.

I hesitated, my pulse pounding in my ears as I tapped the message open.

There were no words.

Just a picture.

A picture of me.

Taken tonight.

Through my bedroom window.

A fresh wave of terror crashed over me, drenching me in cold sweat. My grip on the phone faltered as my breath hitched in my throat.

I couldn't move.

I couldn't breathe.

My eyes darted to the window, the darkness outside now feeling like a living, breathing entity, pressing against the glass. The curtains were drawn, but I knew. Someone had been there. Someone had been watching me.

I scrambled off the bed, my heart slamming against my ribs. My hands shook as I reached for the window, fingers clutching the fabric of the curtains. I didn't want to look. What if they were still there?

But I had to.

Slowly, I pulled the curtain back just enough to peek through.

Blackness. The yard was still. The street beyond it empty. The only movement was the faint swaying of the tree branches in the wind.

But I knew better. I knew I wasn't alone.

I spun back toward my phone, my mind racing. Call someone. Tell someone. My fingers fumbled to unlock it, but before I could dial, another notification slid across the screen.

Another email.

**No Use Hiding.**

I dropped my phone like it had burned me, scrambling away from the window. My breath hitched, coming too fast, too shallow, and my heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else.

The blanket wasn't enough—the walls weren't enough—the house itself felt too exposed.

A creak.

It wasn't from inside the room. It came from outside.

The window.

I ran, bolting for the door so fast I almost tripped, catching myself on the frame before tearing down the hallway. The shadows felt deeper than before. The floorboards under my feet groaned like something unseen was shifting beneath them.

"Mom! Dad!"

The words came out as more of a gasp than a shout. My lungs ached, but I didn't stop until I reached the living room.

They were downstairs, talking in hushed voices with Uncle David.

Three heads turned toward me at once.

I barely registered what I was saying—just shoved my phone into Uncle David's hands, shaking, breathing too hard, too fast.

He read the message.

His expression didn't change.

That made it worse.

Because I knew what that meant.

It meant he wasn't surprised.

It meant he had been expecting this.

"Alright!" Dad yelled. "Pack up. We're going to a hotel!"

Mom didn't ask questions. She was already moving, grabbing her keys and purse like she'd been waiting for the signal. Like she'd been bracing for this moment, too.

"What's going on?" I choked out, voice barely audible.

Uncle David didn't look at me at first. He was too busy studying the photo, fingers pinching and zooming in like he could pull something out of the shadows. A reflection. A clue. Anything.

"It means she's escalating," he finally muttered. "We thought she might lie low after the last scare. Clearly, she's not done."

"She?" I echoed. My legs felt unsteady beneath me.

Uncle David didn't answer. But he didn't have to.

My dad came back into the room, holding a duffel bag he'd packed in record time. "Emily, sweetheart, go get some clothes. Enough for a few nights. Don't worry about school, we'll figure that out later."

"But—"

"No buts," Mom cut in gently but firmly, brushing hair back from my face. Her hands were warm, but I could feel the tremor in them. "This isn't safe anymore. Not here."

It felt like the walls were closing in—like even in this room, with my family all around me, I wasn't safe. The picture kept flashing in my mind. My window. My silhouette. The glow of my phone. They'd been watching the whole time.

"Do you think she's still out there?" I whispered.

Uncle David finally looked me in the eyes. His voice was quiet but steady. "If she is, she won't be for long."

That was supposed to be reassuring, but all I heard was: She was close enough to take a picture. Close enough to get inside if she wanted to.

I nodded numbly and turned toward the stairs, legs like jelly. Every shadow seemed sharper. Every creak in the house felt like a threat. I grabbed my bag and stuffed it with clothes, my hands moving on autopilot. Toothbrush. Phone charger. Hoodie. I threw it all in without really thinking.

As I zipped up the bag, I glanced at the window one more time.

Curtains shut. No movement.

But I still felt her eyes on me.

The car ride was supposed to make me feel safer.

It didn't.

I was squished between Mom and Lily in the back seat, my duffel bag pressed against my legs, my phone still clenched in my hands like a lifeline. Dad was driving, one hand gripping the wheel too tight. Uncle David sat up front, staring straight ahead like he was watching for something—someone—on the road.

No one was talking.

The only sound was the soft hum of the tires and the occasional click of the turn signal. The highway was nearly empty, just long stretches of black asphalt and cold streetlights flickering overhead like they could blink out at any second. The farther we got from home, the darker it seemed to get.

My phone buzzed.

I jumped, heart leaping into my throat.

It was just the battery warning—20% left—but my fingers trembled anyway. I tucked it into my hoodie pocket, like hiding it could shut out the terror clawing at the edge of my thoughts.

I glanced out the window. Nothing but darkness and trees. But it didn't feel empty. It felt...watched.

Then I saw them.

Headlights.

Far behind us, weaving through traffic. Getting closer. At first, it didn't seem strange. Just another car.

But it didn't pass us.

It didn't fall back either.

It just stayed there. Always the same distance behind us. Keeping pace.

"Uncle David..." I whispered, leaning forward between the seats. "That car behind us..."

"I see it," he said without turning around.

His calm didn't help. If anything, it made it worse—because he didn't say it's nothing. He didn't tell me I was being paranoid.

"Could just be someone heading the same direction," Dad said, but his voice was flat. Stiff. Like even he didn't believe it.

Mom slipped her arm around my shoulders. I leaned into her, but the pressure in my chest kept building.

Minutes passed.

The car was still there.

Then my phone buzzed again.

Another email.

My breath caught.

I didn't want to look.

But I did.

Subject: You Can't Run Forever.

No message. Just a live location.

Ours.

My blood went cold. My mouth opened, but no words came out—just a broken sound that barely escaped.

I showed the phone to Uncle David. This time, his jaw clenched.

"Pull over," he said.

"What?" Dad barked. "We can't just stop!"

"Do it," David snapped. "Now."

Dad yanked the car onto the shoulder, gravel crunching under the tires. The headlights behind us slowed too. Then stopped.

The car behind us stayed still. No one got out. No one moved.

I couldn't take my eyes off it.

Uncle David was already on the phone, speaking low, fast, with clipped words I couldn't make out.

Then, finally—finally—the other car turned. The headlights swerved away, tires screeching as it vanished down the next exit.

Gone.

But the feeling stayed.

That feeling of being hunted.

Of being followed.

Of being known.

The Holiday Inn looked sterile and too bright against the inky night sky, its glowing green sign flickering slightly as we pulled into the parking lot. The lobby lights spilled onto the pavement, cold and fluorescent, like a spotlight we didn't ask for.

No one spoke as we got out of the car.

Uncle David stayed on the phone, his voice low and urgent, pacing near the front entrance while Mom ushered us inside. The automatic doors slid open with a mechanical hiss that made me flinch. Everything felt too clean, too quiet, like the calm before a storm—or the eye of one.

The man at the front desk barely looked up as Mom gave our last name. Uncle David had already called ahead.

"They put us on the third floor," she said once she had the key cards. "We're all staying in the same room. No exceptions."

I didn't argue. I didn't want to be alone.

The elevator ride was silent except for the faint hum of bad elevator music—something upbeat that felt painfully out of place. I hugged my bag to my chest, trying not to picture the hotel window. Trying not to imagine someone watching from the parking lot below.

The room smelled like fresh linens and old air conditioner. There were two queen beds, a pullout couch, and a small desk in the corner. The lights were too bright, too fake. I wanted to curl up in the dark and disappear, but I was afraid of the shadows now, too.

Uncle David joined us a few minutes later, his face unreadable.

"She's definitely close," he said quietly, sliding his phone into his coat pocket. "The email came from a proxy, but we traced the IP to somewhere local. Probably a public Wi-Fi. Coffee shop. Library. Maybe even a neighbor's unsecured network."

"Then she's still here," Mom whispered.

He nodded.

"I'll be heading back to the station in the morning. I want to keep things quiet for now. No press. No sudden moves." His eyes landed on me. "You okay?"

I nodded.

I lied.

I wasn't okay. I hadn't been okay in weeks. Maybe longer.

"I don't want to sleep near the window," I said softly, not caring how it sounded. "Please."

Mom nodded, already moving her bag to the bed farthest from it. Lily stayed close, quiet and pale, watching me like she was afraid I'd break. Sam was already curled on the pullout couch, earbuds in, trying to pretend this was just another weird night.

But it wasn't.

It was a warning.

A message.

You can run, but I'll still find you.

Later, after everyone settled and the lights dimmed, I sat on the edge of the bed, my phone resting on my knees. No new emails. No calls. Just silence.

But I could still feel her.

Out there.

Somewhere.

Waiting.

Uncle David was up. He hadn't slept, not even for a second.

He sat at the desk across the hotel room, eyes fixed on the grainy feeds from the security cameras set up around our house. The glow from his laptop screen painted his face in a cold blue light, making the tired lines beneath his eyes look even deeper.

Outside, snowflakes drifted lazily under the parking lot lights, but on his screen, the world looked different—sharper, colder, more dangerous.

Red and blue lights cut through the night, flashing across the snowy ground like silent alarms. Two Bloomington police officers stepped out of their cruiser, their uniforms dark against the white. Their breath curled in the freezing air, visible in short, rhythmic puffs.

The crunch of their boots on ice echoed through the speakers like breaking bones.

They moved cautiously toward the house, flashlights cutting across the yard, checking windows, doors, and corners. Uncle David watched them in silence, every muscle in his body tight with tension. He'd asked for the patrol himself. Not just to keep an eye out—but to send a message:

We know you're out there.

Uncle David's fingers hovered over his keyboard, hesitating for the briefest second.

He wanted to be there. You could see it in his eyes. He hated being this far away—hated trusting others to do the job he'd always done himself.

But he'd made a choice.

He glanced over his shoulder at us—still asleep, or pretending to be. Sam, curled up under a blanket on the pullout couch. Lily half-dozing, earbuds in, probably listening to some calm playlist to drown out the fear. Mom laid with one arm across my waist like a seatbelt, like if she let go I'd vanish.

Uncle David's gaze lingered on me the longest.

He would've gone back in a heartbeat. But someone had to stay behind.

Someone had to protect us.

He turned back to the screen. The officers radioed in—all clear. No signs of forced entry. No footprints in the snow beyond the ones already expected.

But that didn't mean she wasn't there. It just meant she was better at hiding than most.

Uncle David leaned back in the chair, cracking his knuckles slowly.

"She's not done," he whispered to himself. "Not even close."

He didn't know I was awake. I kept my eyes shut, but I listened. My heart beat slower now, not from calm—but from fear sinking deeper into my bones.

Because if Uncle David was scared...

Then we all should be.

Morning came slow, and it came gray.

The kind of morning that didn't feel like morning at all—just a slightly lighter version of night. Snow still dusted the ground outside the hotel window, but it was already starting to melt into slush under the weight of tire tracks and boot prints. The blinds were cracked just enough to let in the weak light, casting long shadows across the room.

Nobody had really slept, not deeply. Not peacefully.

Sam snored softly on the pullout couch, his blanket twisted around his legs. Lily was sitting cross-legged on one of the beds, scrolling quietly through her phone, earbuds still in. Mom was awake but silent, sipping lukewarm coffee from a hotel cup like it was doing more than it was.

There was no school again—not that I'd forgotten. It had been shut down ever since the shooting, and no one knew when it would reopen. Maybe next week. Maybe not at all. For now, the building was just a place with boarded windows and blood-stained silence.

I sat on the edge of the bed, picking at the sleeve of my hoodie, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend that the night hadn't happened. That there wasn't someone out there taking pictures of me. Stalking me. Playing games with my life like it was entertainment.

A knock at the door shattered the silence.

Three sharp raps.

Everyone froze.

Uncle David was already moving, gun holstered at his side, badge clipped to his belt. He approached the door like it might explode. Then he looked through the peephole and let out a breath.

"It's them," he said.

He opened the door just enough to let in the cold air—and two uniformed officers. One was tall, bald, and stone-faced. The other was younger, with tired eyes and a clipboard.

"Update from the house," the younger one said, voice low. "No signs of her. But we found footprints in the alley behind the property. Barely visible, but there."

"So she was close," Uncle David muttered. "Watching."

The officer nodded. "She's smart. No tire marks. Probably on foot. We're checking security footage from the corner gas station, but it'll take time."

"Thanks," Uncle David said. "Let me know the second you find anything."

The door clicked shut.

I waited until everyone else had distracted themselves—Mom went to brush her teeth, Lily disappeared into the bathroom, Sam mumbled something in his sleep—and then I got up and walked quietly to the desk.

Uncle David was already back at his computer, reviewing the footage again in slow motion, frame by frame.

"I know you're trying not to scare us," I said quietly. "But I already am."

He didn't look away from the screen. "I know."

"Why didn't you tell me this could happen again?"

Now he looked at me. Not with pity. Not with soft words. But with something closer to respect.

"Because you needed a break. After what happened at school, after—Trevor—" His jaw tightened. "You deserved to feel safe again. Even if it was just for a little while."

"I never felt safe," I said, barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly. "Then you're smarter than I gave you credit for."

A silence stretched between us, long and heavy.

"She took a picture of me, David," I said. "Through my bedroom window. What if I hadn't seen the email? What if I just went to sleep like normal and—"

I couldn't finish.

He reached over and gently closed the laptop. The screen went dark.

"I won't let her get close again," he said. "I swear to you."

But his voice wasn't as steady as it usually was.

Because we both knew she already had.