I don't remember climbing down from the perch.
I must have done it—my boots were wet with concrete dust, my case was back in my hand, the rifle broken down inside. But the moments after I heard that whisper… they're gone.
It's like my memory skipped.
One second I was looking through the scope at Murakami, his life trembling on the other end of my finger. The next, I was in the street, walking fast, hands in my pockets, rain on my shoulders.
Like I'd been… carried.
No. Not carried. Followed
---
The city at night usually feels like cover. Noise and light to vanish into. But tonight, it felt like something pressing against me.
Every store window I passed—there it was.
Not in focus, not solid. Just the shape. The dark figure standing behind me.
Never moving. Never closer.
Always there.
I forced myself to keep walking. Turned down alleys, doubled back, crossed streets without looking. Classic evasion tactics. Nothing shook it.
When I glanced at a passing taxi window, it stood behind my shoulder. When I caught my reflection in a rain puddle, there it was. When I stepped into the subway, the sliding glass doors showed the faint outline.
Like it was stitched to me.
---
I told myself it was stress. The job rattled me. That's all.
But the lie felt thin.
I've walked away from fifty jobs. More. My hands never shook. My head never spun. I don't hallucinate.
And this didn't feel like hallucination.
It felt… deliberate.
---
On the train ride home, I sat near the door, case between my legs. The car was mostly empty: a drunk salaryman drooling on his tie, a girl scrolling through her phone, an old woman clutching a grocery bag.
Normal. Forgettable.
But in the window across from me, I wasn't alone.
The reflection showed me sitting where I was. But over my shoulder, it stood.
Closer now.
I blinked. Looked behind me. Nothing but empty seats.
When I looked back, the figure hadn't moved. Same place in the reflection. Same distance.
And then—I swear—I saw the faintest tilt of its head.
Like it knew I was watching.
---
My stop couldn't come fast enough. I shoved out into the rain, walking fast, heart pounding harder than I wanted to admit.
The streets were quieter here, dimmer. More shadows than neon. Perfect for ghosts.
I kept moving, one hand brushing the weight of the pistol under my coat.
Not because I thought I could shoot it. But because the grip reminded me what was real.
I don't scare easy. But this… this was different.
Because it wasn't chasing me.
It was accompanying me.
Like a silent partner
---
When I finally reached my apartment, I didn't bother with the lights. I sat in the dark, listening.
The city hummed outside. A siren wailed, then faded. Somewhere, a couple argued in muffled voices.
I stared at the blank window across the room, waiting.
And after a while, it appeared.
Faint. Still. Always behind me.
Silent.
Watching
Not yet.