Chapter 73 Chapter seventy- three
Lena’s POV
I start noticing it in pieces.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just enough to make my skin prickle in quiet moments when I’m alone with my thoughts.
The feeling comes first.
That subtle awareness at the back of my neck, like someone’s gaze lingering a second too long. I tell myself it’s paranoia. Heartbreak does strange things to the mind. Stress sharpens imagination until everything feels like a threat.
Still, I check over my shoulder more often than usual.
On my way home from the pharmacy, I see the car again.
Same dark color. Same tinted windows. Parked farther down the street this time, angled slightly toward my building like it belongs there.
My steps slow.
Maybe it’s coincidence. Cities are full of repeating patterns—same cars, same faces, same routines. I force myself to keep walking, my crutches tapping softly against the pavement.
But when I glance back, the car hasn’t moved.
I don’t stop until I’m inside my building, the door clicking shut behind me with a sound that’s louder than it should be. My heart pounds as I lean against the wall for a moment, breathing through the tightness in my chest.
You’re fine, I tell myself. You’re just tired.
The apartment is quiet when I step inside.
Too quiet.
I drop my bag on the table and kick the door closed with my heel—
And then I freeze.
The door doesn’t latch.
It swings back slightly, stopping inches from the frame.
My breath catches.
I stare at it, my mind scrambling for explanations. Maybe I didn’t close it properly this morning. Maybe Avery rushed out and forgot. Maybe—
My hand shakes as I reach forward and push it closed. This time, it locks.
The apartment looks normal. Nothing overturned. Nothing obviously missing. The couch cushions are the way I left them. The curtains hang evenly. My laptop sits where I remember placing it.
Still, the air feels wrong.
Like it’s been disturbed.
I do a slow walk-through, my heart thudding louder with every step. Bedroom. Bathroom. Kitchen. Everything looks fine. Too fine. Whoever—or whatever—was here didn’t want to be noticed.
The realization sends a chill down my spine.
I sit on the edge of the bed and press my palms into my thighs, grounding myself.
Call someone.
The thought comes immediately.
My phone is already in my hand before I realize who I’m about to call.
Sebastian.
My thumb hovers over his name.
For a split second, instinct wins. Fear overrides pride, hurt, anger. I imagine his voice—low, steady, controlled. I imagine him telling me what to do, promising I’m safe.
Then his words crash back into me.
It was just a fling.
I’m tired of you.
My chest tightens painfully.
I lower the phone.
No.
I won’t do that again. I won’t give him another opportunity to make me feel small, foolish, disposable.
I lock the door. Then I check it again.
I don’t relax until Avery arrives.
She doesn’t even hesitate when I tell her what happened. Doesn’t laugh it off. Doesn’t tell me I’m imagining things.
She just drops her bag and says, “I’m staying.”
“You don’t have to,” I protest weakly.
“I do,” she replies, already pulling out blankets and ordering food like this was decided the moment she walked in. “You’re not being alone tonight.”
Her presence helps. The apartment feels warmer. Louder. Safer.
But even as we eat and watch a movie neither of us is really paying attention to, my attention keeps drifting to the door. The windows. The shadows.
That night, there’s a knock.
Sharp. Precise.
Avery and I both freeze.
“I didn’t order anything,” she whispers.
Neither did I.
She moves toward the door anyway, cautious but composed, checking the peephole before opening it just enough to see outside.
“There’s a package,” she says. “No name.”
My stomach drops.
She brings it in and sets it on the table like it might explode. It’s small. Plain. No return address.
We stare at it.
“Do you want me to open it?” Avery asks.
I shake my head. “No. I will.”
My fingers feel numb as I peel back the tape.
Inside is a phone.
Cheap. Black. Unbranded.
A burner.
My breath comes shallow. “Why would someone—”
The phone lights up in my hand.
It rings.
Avery’s eyes widen. “Lena—”
I answer without thinking.
“Hello?”
Static crackles. Then a voice comes through—distorted, altered, unmistakably intentional.
“He didn’t tell you the whole story, did he?”