Zefar's apartment is twenty minutes on foot. Claire stays close.
"Is he following?" Zefar asks at the third block.
"Yes."
Her voice is flat. Used to it now.
They pass other people. Guy on his phone. Woman with grocery bags. Nobody reacts. Nobody sees what Claire sees.
Makes it worse somehow.
His building is nothing special. Brick. Four stories. Mrs. Chen on the first floor always has her TV too loud.
Inside smells like garlic. Someone cooking.
"Third floor," Zefar says.
Claire follows. Keeps looking back.
"Still there?"
"Bottom of the stairs. Just standing."
Zefar's apartment is sparse. Couch from his sister. Coffee table buried in files. Kitchen barely fits one person.
"Make yourself comfortable," he says. Realizes how stupid that sounds.
Claire perches on the couch edge. Like before.
Zefar goes to the window. Street view. Parked cars. Someone walking their dog.
"Where is he?"
"Outside. Looking up."
"At this window?"
"Yes."
Zefar stares at empty street. That prickle again. Being watched through glass you can't see.
He closes the blinds.
"Coffee?"
"Sure."
His hands steadier now. Brain kicking back in. This is what he's good at. Taking weird information and making it make sense.
While coffee brews, he grabs a notebook. Fresh page. Sits across from her.
"Three days ago. Walk me through it."
Claire wraps her arms around herself. "Monday morning. Leaving for work. Seven-fifteen. He was across the street."
"First time?"
"First time."
"What made you notice?"
She thinks. "He wasn't moving. Everyone else was. But he was still."
Zefar writes it down. "Then?"
"Walked to the bus stop. Looked back. He was closer."
"Like he teleported?"
"Maybe. Or I wasn't paying attention."
The coffee maker beeps. Zefar pours two cups. Hands her one.
She wraps both hands around it. Doesn't drink.
"At work?" Zefar asks.
"Tried to forget about it. Lunch break I went outside. He was across from the office."
"Same spot?"
"Different angles. Always where he could see me."
"He ever try to touch you?"
"No. Just watches."
Zefar taps his pen. "People walk around him like there's an obstacle they don't register."
"Yeah."
Interesting. So something's there. Physically there. Just invisible.
"The photos," Zefar says. "Multiple attempts?"
"Dozens. Nothing."
"But I saw his shadow."
Claire looks at him. "Why?"
"Don't know yet." His mind working. "You see him fully. I see his shadow. Others see nothing. There's a progression."
"Progression?"
"Like he's partially real. Different layers maybe."
Claire's laugh is bitter. "This is insane."
"Yeah." Zefar drinks his coffee. "But it's happening."
He flips pages. Starts writing.
"What are you doing?"
"List. What we know. What we don't."
KNOWN:
Only Claire sees him fully
Started Monday, no trigger
Follows constantly
No photos
Casts shadow (visible to me)
People avoid his space unconsciously
Wrong proportions
Blank expression
UNKNOWN:
What he is
What he wants
Why Claire
How to stop him
Something's missing.
"You said his eyes are always on you. Even through walls."
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"I feel it."
Zefar adds: Claire senses his attention.
"Has he tried to communicate?"
"Nothing."
"React to anything? Yelling? Throwing something?"
Claire shakes her head. "I threw my phone at him yesterday. Passed right through."
Zefar sits back. "Not solid."
"But he casts a shadow."
"But he casts a shadow." Shadow means light interaction. Physical presence.
Unless the shadow's separate. The only real part.
"What are you thinking?" Claire asks.
"Doesn't make sense. Need more information."
He gets up. Paces. Apartment's too small for good pacing.
"You grow up here?" he asks suddenly.
"What?"
"In the city."
"Yeah. Why?"
"Siblings?"
"One brother. Seattle."
"Parents?"
"Mom died when I was twelve. Dad's in a care home. Alzheimer's."
Zefar stops. "When did your mom die? What month?"
Claire's face goes wary. "October. Why?"
"What day?"
"October seventh." Voice tight. "What are you getting at?"
"Today's October third."
Claire goes still. "You think he's connected to her?"
"Maybe. Anniversaries trigger things."
"Seventeen years ago."
"Trauma doesn't care about time."
Claire sets down her coffee hard. It sloshes. "You think I'm manifesting this? In my head?"
"I saw the shadow. Felt the cold. Not just in your head."
"Then what?"
"That's what we're figuring out."
Silence. TV muffled downstairs. Mrs. Chen's game show.
Claire looks at the blinds. "He's still there."
"Figured."
"This is my life now. Being watched. Nobody believing me."
"I believe something's happening."
"Not the same thing."
"It's what I've got."
Her eyes are red-rimmed. Three days no sleep. Shows.
"You should rest," Zefar says.
"Can't sleep with him watching."
"You haven't slept at all?"
"Hour here and there. When I pass out."
Zefar goes to his closet. Pulls out a blanket. "Try. I'll keep watch."
"For what? You can't see him."
"Maybe I'll figure something out."
Claire takes the blanket. Looks at it like she forgot what blankets are for.
"Why are you doing this?" she asks. "Really."
Zefar thinks about the Brennan file. Three years of same cases. Same lies. Same routine.
About standing under that streetlight seeing something impossible.
"Three years investigating things that don't matter," he says. "Cheating spouses. Insurance fraud. People being people."
"And this matters?"
"This is real. Actually unknown. Not just another liar." He meets her eyes. "I want to know what's happening."
"Even if it's dangerous?"
"Especially then."
Claire almost smiles. "You're weird."
"Yeah."
She lies down. Pulls the blanket up. Stares at the ceiling.
Zefar sits. Opens his laptop.
"What are you looking for?"
"Similar cases. Someone else has to have experienced this."
"Good luck."
He types. Stalked by invisible man. Nothing useful. Horror movie plots. Reddit paranoia.
Different terms. Cannot see person. Invisible stalker. Shadow without body.
Nothing.
Hours pass. Claire's breathing evens out. Finally asleep.
Zefar keeps searching. Coffee goes cold.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
If this happened before, nobody documented it. Nobody believed it enough.
Claire might be the first.
And Zefar might be the first trying to solve it.
First supernatural investigator. Almost laughs. Sounds like bad TV.
Except the shadow was real. The cold was real.
His phone says 2:47 AM. Eyes burning.
He closes the laptop. Looks at Claire. Curled tight. Blanket to her chin. Even asleep she looks tense.
He gets up quiet. Goes to the window. Opens the blinds a crack.
Street is empty. Dark.
But something makes him look down. At the sidewalk below.
There's a shadow. Just one. Standing motionless under the streetlight.
No person casting it.
Just the shadow.
Looking up.