Part 41
The house Leah had found was small, half-swallowed by jungle growth.
Its walls breathed with heat, its windows open to the sound of crickets and the occasional hiss of wind through palm leaves.
Adrian should've felt safe here.
There were no cameras, no lights, no reminders of the city.
Yet every silence pressed against him like glass.
Too perfect.
Too complete.
He sat by the window long after Leah had gone to bed, watching the tree line shift with the breeze.
When the shadows moved, his body tensed on instinct.
He told himself it was nothing — just branches, wind, memory.
But every time he blinked, he thought he saw the outline of someone standing just beyond the fence.
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Leah's voice startled him.
"You're not sleeping again."
She stood in the doorway, arms folded, eyes soft but sharp.
Adrian tried to smile.
"I keep thinking I hear things."
"That's normal after what you've been through," she said. "Your body's still in defense mode."
He wanted to believe her.
He really did.
But defense didn't explain the faint scent that lingered by the window — faintly floral, almost sterile.
It didn't explain the small sound he'd heard earlier: a click, like a phone camera, too fast, too close.
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Leah moved closer, resting a hand on his shoulder.
"We'll leave again soon. Somewhere quieter. You'll see — she can't reach you here."
Adrian's chest tightened at that word — she.
Leah didn't even know the name, and yet it felt heavier spoken aloud.
He looked out again. The shadows were gone.
But the feeling wasn't.
The air outside the window hummed, as if someone had just stepped away.
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Later, after Leah fell asleep, Adrian turned on his phone — the one with no SIM card, meant to stay dark.
For a split second before it powered off again, the screen flickered with a strange notification:
Bluetooth request: "SUNflowers."
He stared at it until the light died, pulse hammering in his throat.
The jungle sang on outside, oblivious.
He didn't move for the rest of the night.