But then, his phone buzzed again. He didn’t want to answer, but it kept buzzing, insistent. It was Naomi. He exhaled, walking over to the couch and sitting down heavily. 

“Ethan?” Her voice came through the speaker, soft, concerned. “You still there?” 

He didn’t reply at first, staring at the screen, trying to steady his breath. It was just Naomi. She wasn’t the problem. But the feeling, the gnawing sense of being watched, was getting worse. His fingers shook as he ran a hand through his hair, forcing himself to speak. 

“Yeah… I’m here,” he muttered. 

“Are you sure you’re, okay?” Naomi asked, her voice a little higher now, a note of worry creeping in. “You’re… you’re not answering my texts. You’ve been acting weird all day.” 

Ethan opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat. Acting weird? How could he explain it? The creeping suspicion that someone was following him, the sense that he wasn’t alone, even here, in his own apartment. That his mind was unravelling thread by thread? 

“I just... I don’t feel great,” he finally managed, his voice strained. “I think it’s the exhaustion. I just need some time to clear my head.” 

Naomi was quiet for a moment, and for a second, Ethan thought she might push further. But she didn’t. 

The words sounded comforting, but they didn’t ease the tightness in his chest. He nodded, even though she couldn’t see it. 

“I know,” he whispered. 

As the call ended, Ethan placed his phone on the coffee table, feeling more isolated than ever. He stared at the screen for a long moment, the silence in the apartment swallowing everything. 

And then—there it was again. The feeling of eyes on him. It was subtle at first, a shift in the air, a whisper of movement from the corner of the room. He turned quickly, but nothing was there. Nothing at all. 

But the unease never left.