I cut through the underground parking garage instead of taking the elevator, phone pressed to my ear, mind already moving on to the next problem to solve.
That’s when I felt someone watching me. The kind of attention that presses between your shoulder blades—not threatening, just… aware.
I stopped beside my car and glanced up at the mirrored windows lining the ramp.
That’s when I saw her reflection.
She was standing near the stairwell, half-hidden by shadows. Her dark hair was loose around her shoulders. She was watching me.
She didn’t pretend to check her phone when our eyes met through the glass. Didn’t look away.
She smiled.
I turned fully, but she was gone.
I returned to the office and finished a report.
When I left, a single white heart was drawn neatly on the light snow covering my windshield.
I stared at it for a moment, already knowing who it was from.
I shift slightly now, the sheets rustling, my eyes still fixed on the ceiling. I should have shut it down then. Called it in. Changed my routine. Locked my doors.
But I didn’t.
I started noticing when she was there. And when she wasn’t. The house felt wrong without her.
A soft sound pulls my attention back to the present. The faintest whisper of movement outside on the balcony.
My mouth curves, slow and knowing.
Ivy is never loud when she comes to me.
I keep my eyes open, breathing steady, heart rate unchanged as the night holds its breath.
I stare at the ceiling and wait for her to appear, knowing I’ll close my eyes and pretend to sleep once she gets closer.
There’s something about her attention that gets to me in a way no one else ever has.
She slips inside, the cool night air blowing across my bed. She’s quiet as she comes around and slides in beside me.
“Ivy,” I say in a warning.
“Shhh.” She strokes my hair. “I’m just making sure you don’t have any more nightmares.”
I stare at her in the darkness. “Nightmares?”
“You had one last night. You were tossing and turning, muttering something about it being ‘all your fault.’ When I crawled into bed and stroked your hair, you calmed down.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
“Good.” She’s stroking my head in that way of hers that almost makes me purr like a kitten. “Now go to sleep. You have an early morning tomorrow.”
My eyes are too heavy to argue with her.
Why does she bring me peace?But I drift away before I can analyze it.
My bare feetare cold against the old, wooden floor. Despite the quiet, my heart hammers against my chest.
