Vivian kept her distance, keeping just enough space between them that he wouldn’t notice. Or at least, she hoped he wouldn’t. She wasn’t experienced in this—not in following people, not in tailing someone who clearly had no intention of being found.

She told herself she was careful. She blended into the flow of students leaving campus, moving through the late afternoon crowds like she belonged there. But doubt crept in with every step.

She didn’t know how much distance was enough.

Didn’t know if she was supposed to keep her eyes on him or look away when he turned his head.

Didn’t know if she had already been caught.

But Noah never looked back.

Not once.

He moved through his day as if nothing had changed.

He sat in lecture, jotting down notes in neat, precise handwriting.

He answered questions when the professor called on him, his voice smooth, composed.

He even leaned over to make an offhand remark to the student beside him, nodding at something on their laptop, his expression easy, unbothered.

Vivian watched him from behind, her own notes untouched, her mind incapable of focusing on anything except him.

This wasn’t the Noah from Silver Key.

That night, he had walked into a bloodstained room and taken control without hesitation. He had moved with precision, erasing his presence, wiping his prints, calculating every step before she had even begun to understand what was happening. He had taken charge effortlessly, like he had done it before.

And he wasn’t the Noah from the motel either.

That Noah had dragged things out because he had wanted to.

That Noah had made her sit across from him, watching her, stretching the silence until it became unbearable, until she had handed over every inch of control to him without even realizing it.

That Noah had leaned back in his chair, watching her with something patient, slow, entertained, like he had all the time in the world.

That Noah had toyed with her, studied her, watched her unravel just to see how long she could hold herself together.

That Noah had made her think she owed him something.

And then, when he had gotten bored, he had discarded her.

Now, there was nothing.

No glint of amusement.

No flicker of calculation in his eyes.

No subtle shifts in expression to suggest recognition.

Because he wasn’t looking at her at all.

Vivian’s fingers curled into the fabric of her blouse, her skin damp with sweat despite the warmth of the late afternoon.

She had chosen the blouse because it was February, because she knew the heat from the sun would linger, because she had wanted something breathable.

Now, it clung to her uncomfortably.

She had thought he had helped her that night.

Now, she wasn’t sure anymore.

She replayed everything in her head, every moment from the night of Vince’s murder, every second at the motel.

He had wiped his prints.

He had left hers.

He had told her to go home, go to class, and act normal.

And now, that was exactly what he was doing.

Had that always been the plan?

Had she never been part of the plan at all?

She swallowed hard, forcing her feet to keep moving, forcing her body to match his pace, to stay steady, to keep herself together.

She couldn’t afford to unravel. Not here. Not now.

He had no reason to suspect she was following him.

If she let her emotions get the better of her, she would only give herself away.

She needed to know what he knew.

She needed to understand why he had been at Silver Key in the first place.

And more than anything—

She needed to understand why he was so completely unaffected.

When class ended, Noah packed up his things with the same practiced efficiency as always, tucking his notebook into his bag, capping his pen with an absent flick of his fingers.

He stood, stretched lazily, then started toward the exit.

Vivian followed.

For the first time, she wondered—where does he even live?

She had never thought about it before. Never considered where he went when he left campus, who he went home to, what his life looked like when he wasn’t sitting in the same classroom as her, arguing over equations and theories.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

She had always thought she knew him.

Now, she realized she knew nothing.

She expected him to head toward one of the apartment complexes near campus, maybe even a residential area further into the city.

Instead, he walked toward the bus stop.

Vivian hesitated for half a second, then kept going.

She hung back as he boarded, waiting just long enough for another student to step ahead of her, creating space between them.

She paid her fare, eyes fixed forward, body tense, but Noah never turned around.

He found a seat near the back, propped his elbow on the edge of the window, and stared outside like this was just another afternoon.

Vivian moved toward the middle, her hands clenching around the strap of her bag as she sat down.

She forced herself to breathe.

To act normal.

To pretend like she wasn’t following someone who had already erased every trace of himself from a murder scene.

The bus rumbled forward, pulling away from campus.

The city passed in a blur, the buildings shifting from familiar storefronts to older, dimly lit streets.

Noah didn’t move.

He didn’t glance at his phone.

He didn’t fidget, didn’t check the stops, didn’t act like someone paying attention to where he was going.

He already knew.

Vivian kept her gaze down, but her body was alert, hyper-aware of every turn, every stop, every new shift in the landscape.

And then, finally—

He stood.

She didn’t move at first.

Didn’t react.

She let two more people stand up before she pushed herself out of her seat, forcing her movements to stay natural.

Noah stepped off the bus without hesitation.

Vivian followed.

The air outside was warmer than before, thick with the smell of asphalt, cigarettes, and the distinct staleness of a place that didn’t welcome outsiders.

She looked up at the street sign.

She had never been here before.

But she knew the name.

Orchid Alley.

She slowed, her stomach twisting as she watched Noah disappear into the alleyway without hesitation.

Something wasn’t right.

She had never been here before, but she knew of it. Orchid Alley wasn’t a place people passed through on their way home. It wasn’t a shortcut. It wasn’t a detour. It was the kind of place you only went when you had a reason to be there.

What was Noah doing here?

And why had he let her follow him?

For the first time since she had started trailing him, she felt uncertain.

She should have seen him by now.

She should have heard his footsteps.

But the alley stretched ahead, empty.

The flickering neon glow from a failing streetlight cast uneven shadows against the walls, distorting everything around her. Somewhere in the distance, a muffled voice called out, followed by laughter that faded just as quickly as it had come. The city was still alive just beyond these walls, but here, everything felt too still.

She took another step forward, her eyes scanning the dimly lit street, trying to track where he had gone.

Noah was gone.

And for the first time since she had started following him, she wondered if she had just walked into something she wasn’t prepared for.

The further Vivian walked into the alley, the more her discomfort settled into something sharper, something she couldn’t quite name. The sounds of the city faded behind her, muffled by the narrow streets and the press of buildings that loomed too close together. The air felt heavier here, thick with humidity and something else—something unwelcoming.

She glanced over her shoulder.

The entrance to the alley was still visible behind her, glowing faintly under the flickering streetlights, but it felt farther away than it should have.

She didn’t see Noah anywhere.

She didn’t hear him either.

Her pulse quickened as she stepped forward.

He had been just ahead of her. She had watched him turn the corner, his movement steady, unhurried, like he had known exactly where he was going.

But now, he was gone.

Vivian’s steps slowed as she scanned the alley, trying to ignore the way her skin prickled with unease. The buildings here were older, some of them lined with rusted fire escapes, their windows dark and empty. A few doors were cracked open, revealing dimly lit interiors, the kind of places where no one asked questions, where no one cared who came and went.

She turned her head, her gaze darting between doorways and shadowed alcoves, searching for any sign of him.

Noah wasn’t just gone—he had vanished.

A thin layer of sweat formed at the back of her neck, sticking her blouse to her skin. She swallowed hard, her throat dry, forcing herself to take a slow breath.

Had she lost him?

Had she been too obvious?

Her fingers curled at her sides, frustration mixing with the growing tension in her chest. She had thought she was careful, but if he had noticed her following him, then what? Had he just slipped away, bored with the game? Had he gone somewhere she couldn’t track?

Or had he led her here on purpose?

The thought hit her hard, cutting through her unease with something colder, something closer to fear.

She had followed him without thinking.

She had walked into this place without a plan.

And now she was alone.

The alley stretched ahead, empty, but she could feel it—something was wrong.

A flicker of movement caught her eye.

She turned her head sharply, her breath catching, but there was nothing there.

Just shadows. Just the dim glow of neon reflecting against wet pavement.

But the feeling didn’t go away.

She wasn’t alone.

She could feel it now, the weight of someone’s gaze, the unshakable awareness creeping up her spine.

Someone was watching her.

Vivian’s hands clenched into fists as she forced herself to keep moving. The alley stretched ahead, deceptively empty, but the feeling of being watched clung to her like static in the air. Every step forward made her more aware of how alone she was, how far removed she had become from the safety of campus, from the noise of the city, from anything familiar.

Noah was gone.

She wasn’t.

The alley was narrow, lined with closed storefronts and locked gates, the kind of place where no one paid attention to what happened after dark. The pavement was uneven, the scent of stale beer and cigarette smoke lingering in the humid air. Somewhere behind her, a neon sign buzzed faintly, casting flickering red light against the walls.

A voice broke the silence.

“New girl?”

She turned her head sharply.

A man stepped out of a side alley.

He was older, somewhere in his forties, with the kind of money that showed in his shoes and the sleek watch on his wrist. His suit jacket was expensive, well-tailored, but it hung loosely over his frame, unbuttoned as if he had already shed the pretense of civility for the night.

Vivian didn’t move.

She wasn’t sure if he was talking to her, wasn’t sure if she had imagined it, but then his gaze swept over her, slow and assessing, his mouth twitching into something that made her stomach turn.

She took a step back.

He stepped forward.

“Don’t be shy,” he said, voice smooth, practiced, like he had done this before.

Vivian’s pulse pounded in her ears.

“I’m leaving,” she said, keeping her voice steady, even as she felt the edge of panic rising in her chest.

The man tilted his head, amused. “Now, where’s the fun in that?”

Her stomach twisted.

She moved to step around him, but his hand shot out, catching her wrist before she could react.

His grip was firm, fingers pressing against her skin with just enough pressure to remind her that she wasn’t stronger than him, that if he wanted to, he could keep her here.

Vivian yanked her arm back, but he didn’t let go.

“Come on, baby,” he said, pulling a wallet from his pocket with his free hand, flicking it open lazily. “How much?”

The words didn’t register at first.

Then they did.

Cold flooded through her, sharp and paralyzing, the realization slamming into her all at once.

He thought she was for sale.

She tried to jerk away again, but his grip tightened.

“You’re new,” he mused, tilting his head slightly, still amused by her resistance, as if it would wear off eventually. “No need to play coy. Tell me your price.”

Vivian went rigid.

This wasn’t happening.

This couldn’t be happening.

Her mind scrambled for something—anything—to do next, but the fear in her chest made her hesitate for half a second too long.

And that was all he needed.

His grip shifted, fingers moving from her wrist to her forearm, tugging her forward before she could process it.

She shoved at him, twisting, trying to free herself, but his grip was solid, his stance unmoving.

Her heartbeat pounded, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts as she struggled against him, panic clawing at her ribs.

No one was watching.

No one was paying attention.

Orchid Alley swallowed noise, swallowed struggle, swallowed people who didn’t belong.

She opened her mouth to yell, but the moment she did, he pulled her in closer.

“Don’t make a scene,” he warned, voice low, smooth, unbothered.

She wasn’t getting away.

Not unless she did something.

Not unless someone stopped him.

And no one was coming.