At first, Aria thought she was just imagining it.
Her books weren't quite where she'd left them. A perfume bottle she hadn't touched in weeks sat at an odd angle. And her window—locked the night before—was cracked open when she woke.
She tried to laugh it off. Maybe I'm too tired. Maybe I don't remember things right.
But deep down, a cold truth crept in: someone had been here.
---
By late afternoon, she caught herself glancing over her shoulder again and again, scanning the corners of classrooms, the blurred shapes of faces on the bus, the shifting shadows on the pavement.
And then, as though her thoughts had summoned him, Kael appeared.
He leaned casually against the gate outside her building, as if he had every right to be there. "You look tired, Aria," he said, voice gentle, almost teasing. "Like you haven't been sleeping well."
Her pulse skipped. "You don't know anything about me."
A ghost of a smile crossed his lips. "Don't I? I used to know when you couldn't sleep. When you'd leave your night-light on until dawn. Do you… still dream of the wings?"
The air drained from her lungs. "What did you just say?"
But Kael only tilted his head, eyes unreadable. "You'll understand soon." And with that, he walked away, leaving her rooted to the ground, shaken to her core.
---
That night, she locked the windows, checked the doors twice, even pushed a chair against the front entrance. She kept telling herself she was safe.
But sometime past midnight, the sound of creaking floorboards stirred her awake. Her room felt colder than usual, the air thick with silence.
Blinking in the dim glow of her night-light, she turned her head toward her nightstand.
Her heart froze.
Lying there, perfectly centered beside her lamp, was a Polaroid photograph.
Her own face stared back at her — eyes closed, mouth relaxed, hair spilling across her pillow. She was sleeping.
The picture had been taken from just a few feet away.
And she had never heard the shutter.