I should’ve taken the weird signs this morning more seriously.

The bakery’s already packed by 6:00 a.m., and I swear half the city decided they’ll drop dead without a croissant. The espresso machine’s sputtering like it’s dying, I’ve burned my finger twice, and my bun keeps coming undone no matter how tight I wrap it.

“Abigail! Another honey oat loaf!”
“Abi, you’re outta oat milk!”
“Miss Lane, someone spilled cinnamon sugar on the floor again!”

It’s chaos. Loud, warm, sweet-smelling chaos. And I’m drowning in it.

I duck behind the counter, grabbing the last loaf off the rack, when I catch a glimpse through the front window. A man in a dark hoodie stands across the street, hands in pockets, staring straight at the bakery.

Weird. Probably waiting for someone. I shake it off.

“Abi!” Vanessa barks, breaking my focus. “Where’s the oat milk?”

“Coming!” I call, moving fast.

But every time I glance outside, the man’s still there. Watching. Not scrolling on his phone. Not pacing. Just standing. Still.

Buzz buzz.
My phone vibrates on the shelf behind the register. I reach for it between customers, expecting Nina’s usual Saturday check-in.

Unknown number.
No message.

I frown, toss the phone back, and keep working. Must be spam.

By 3:00 p.m., my soul’s left my body. I slip into the back for my sandwich break, sinking into the worn chair as my phone buzzes again. This time, it’s Nina.

“You alive, girl?” she laughs. “You sound like you’re under attack.”

“You have no idea,” I groan, half-chewing my sandwich. “I burned myself so many times, I might be immune to pain now.”

She chuckles. “At least tell me you saw Cupcake Guy today.”

A smile tugs at my lips despite everything. “Yeah… still just ‘thank you’ and ‘bye.’ He’s consistent, I’ll give him that.”

“Maybe he’s shy,” Nina teases. “Or secretly a billionaire in disguise.”

“Or he just really loves sugar.” I snort.

We talk until she has to go, but as I hang up, I check my notifications again.

That unknown number?
They called twice more.
No voicemail. No text.

A weird chill crawls down my spine. I shake it off.

When my shift finally ends at 7:00 p.m., I’m bone-tired. I pull on my jacket, wave to Vanessa, and step out into the cool evening air.

Across the street—the man in the hoodie’s gone.

Good. I walk faster anyway.

Halfway home, I swear I hear footsteps behind me. I glance back. Nothing. My heart’s pounding a little harder than it should.

I pick up the pace, keys tight in my fist. By the time I reach my building, I’m practically speed-walking. I fumble with the lock, get inside, slam the door shut, and double-lock it.

Breathless.

Safe.

I kick off my shoes, drop my keys in the bowl, toss my jacket over the couch. I’m so tired, my whole body feels like it’s buzzing.

I flop down onto the couch, close my eyes for a second, letting the quiet settle in. My playlist hums softly in the background.

But when I open my eyes and glance at the TV screen across from me—

…there’s a shadow moving behind me.