Serene found her again the next week, crouched near the bookstore steps with a ripped sleeve and no coat.
"Where's your father?" she asked, voice soft.
The girl shrugged. "He forgets things sometimes."
It wasn't the answer that bothered Serene. It was the way she said it — like it was okay. Like being forgotten wasn't strange.
She didn't think. Just removed her own scarf and wrapped it around the girl's shoulders. "You shouldn't be outside without a coat," Serene muttered. "It's freezing."
The girl looked up at her then — dark eyes so still they felt ancient.
"Thank you, Mother."
Serene blinked. "What?"
"I said thank you, miss," the girl repeated, voice as blank as snow.
Serene hesitated, then nodded. "You hungry?"
That night they ate fries at the café's back table. The girl spoke little, but smiled when Serene pushed the ketchup closer. Serene thought of her younger sister, left back home, of childhood bedtime stories, of small warmths. She didn't notice how tightly the girl gripped her sleeve. Or the way her eyes darkened every time someone else greeted Serene.
At home, the windows fogged from the heat. She stepped from the shower and reached for her towel, only to pause — again, that sensation. Someone watching.
She looked at the window. It was closed, but the curtain had shifted. Only slightly. Barely. But she knew.
The cold didn't come from the tile. It came from that.
She dressed quickly. But even the fabric on her skin felt wrong, like it wasn't the first thing to touch her tonight.
Later, she found water on the hallway floor. Bare footprints. Only two. Leading from the bathroom door to the front of her bedroom — then vanishing. No dirt. No sound. Just damp silence.
She began locking her door. Double-locking the windows. Checking the kitchen before sleeping. But nothing helped.
Because he didn't leave signs every night.
He left pressure.
At 2AM, she would wake sweating, heart pounding, unable to breathe. Not from a dream — from the heat of someone's eyes. A phantom weight that lingered between her thighs. The unmistakable feel of breath on her skin. Cold. Purposeful.
She searched the apartment with shaking hands. Nothing. But she knew.
Sometimes, her bra strap would be twisted by morning. Sometimes her hair would feel... combed. Sometimes, her underwear wouldn't be on the same way she'd worn it to bed.
She didn't tell anyone. Not even Sanyu.
Because how do you explain the terror of something you can't prove?
At the café, the girl waited for her again.
Lelo. That was her name.
She had drawn a picture of Serene and folded it carefully into a heart.
"You're really nice," Lelo said, cheeks pink.
Serene smiled tiredly. "You're really strong."
The girl reached across the table and took her hand. "You shouldn't live alone," she said gently. "You don't feel safe."
Serene's stomach dropped.
She looked at her, trying to smile.
Lelo smiled back. Too wide. Too knowing.
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