The unease from Planet Link clung to Mira like a damp fog. The next morning, the street outside her flat looked innocent enough, but the memory of that intense stare, that prickling sensation of being followed, wouldn't dissipate. Marley, usually a calm, sleepy presence, seemed to mirror her anxiety. He'd twitch his ears at shadows on the wall, his tail giving a tentative thump-thump before falling still, his gaze fixed on the window with an unusual intensity.
Mira tried to dismiss it. Wolverhampton was a big city, coincidences happened. But the coincidences kept happening.
Her usual route to the small, independent record shop where she worked involved a shortcut through a quiet park. One Tuesday, as she sat on a bench during her lunch break, scrolling through new releases, a fleeting shadow passed just at the edge of her vision. She looked up, but saw only the usual dog walkers and hurried commuters. Yet, the distinct scent of a musky, metallic aftershave, one she'd vaguely registered at the club, lingered in the air for a moment too long before dissipating.
Later that week, a tiny, almost imperceptible shift in her routine was met with an unsettling mirroring. She decided to grab a coffee from a different cafe, a tiny, tucked-away place she rarely visited. As she waited for her order, she caught a glimpse of a familiar dark silhouette across the street, half-obscured by an awning. Her breath hitched. He was there. Link. He wasn't looking at her directly, seemingly engrossed in his phone, but the sheer unlikelihood of him being at this specific, obscure cafe at the exact same time sent a cold dread through her. When she exited, he was gone, vanished like smoke.
The subtle infiltrations began to escalate. One evening, she returned home to find her usually sturdy letterbox slightly ajar. Nothing was missing, but her stomach churned. Had someone tried to get in? Or had someone just… looked? Marley let out a low growl, his fur bristling, his eyes locked on the front door as if sensing an invisible threat.
The undeniable proof, the moment her paranoia solidified into terrifying certainty, came a few days later. Mira had been having a rough morning. She'd overslept, spilled coffee on her favourite band t-shirt, and was running late for work. Distracted and rushing, she'd fumbled with her keys outside her flat, and one of them, a small, distinctive charm key, had slipped from the ring, clattering silently into a shadowy corner of the doorstep. She hadn't noticed.
She got to work, still flustered, and was about to unlock the shop door when something fell from her pocket. Not the charming key, but a small, folded piece of paper. Her brow furrowed. She hadn't put that in her pocket. Slowly, she unfolded it.
Inside, resting on the crisp white paper, was her lost key charm. And beneath it, in a precise, almost elegant script, were three words:
Careless, Mira Andrews.
Her blood ran cold. He knew her name. He knew where she lived, where she worked. He knew her habits, even her clumsiness. The note wasn't a threat, not explicitly, but the message was clear. He had been there, on her doorstep, watching her. He had seen her drop the key. He had picked it up. And he had put it in her pocket.
The implication sent a wave of nausea through her. This wasn't a coincidence. This wasn't just a lingering feeling of being watched. This was stalking. A shiver, colder than any Wolverhampton winter, crawled down her spine. The man from Planet Link, the shadowy figure with the intense eyes, wasn't just observing. He was closer than she could have ever imagined. And he was just getting started.