Chapter 27 The Face Behind the Mask
When Nora finally told Noah about the figure watching her, she’d expected concern. Alarm. Maybe even a plan to leave Toronto immediately.
Instead, Noah barely looked up from his laptop.
“It’s probably just some creep,” he said, his fingers still typing. “Toronto’s a big city. Lots of weirdos out there.”
“Noah, I’m serious. Someone is watching me. Every single day.”
“Did they approach you? Say anything? Try to hurt you?”
“No, but—”
“Then it’s probably nothing. Just some hungry creep who saw a pretty woman and decided to be a weirdo about it.” Noah finally looked at her, his expression sympathetic but dismissive. “I know you’re on edge after everything we’ve been through. But not every person in a hoodie is the Mafia King’s assassin.”
“This feels different.”
“Everything feels different when you’ve been through what we have. But we can’t let paranoia control our lives. We escaped. We made it out. We’re building something new here. Don’t let fear steal that from you.”
Nora wanted to argue, but part of her wondered if he was right. Maybe she was being paranoid. Maybe her time at Shadowveil had broken something in her ability to judge normal danger from imagined threats.
So she tried to let it go. Tried to convince herself that Noah was right, that it was just some random creep, that she was overreacting.
But the watching continued.
Week after week, the figure still appeared. Across from the bank. Sometimes near the subway. Once, horrifyingly, standing on the street corner near the bank she worked. Always dressed in black. Always wearing that hoodie. Always watching.
Nora brought it up to Noah again two weeks later.
“Did you get a good look at the person?”
“No. Was too far away, and by the time I got closer, the person was gone.”
Noah sighed, and Nora could hear the frustration in it. “Nora, I love you, but I think you’re seeing threats where there aren’t any. We live in a city of millions. People stand on street corners. People wear hoodies. It doesn’t mean they’re following you.”
“But what if it does?”
“Then what do you want me to do about it? Quit my work and follow you around as a bodyguard? Call the police and tell them someone is standing on public property wearing a hoodie? They’ll think we’re crazy.”
“I’m not crazy.”
“I didn’t say you were crazy. I said you’re scared. And I understand that. But we can’t live our lives in fear of every shadow.”
Nora dropped the subject. But the fear didn’t go away. It festered, growing with each passing day, each time she saw that figure watching her.
By the fourth week, Nora couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t focus at work. Susan had noticed, asking if everything was okay at home. Nora lied and said she was fine, just adjusting to the new routine.
But she wasn’t fine. She was terrified. And tired of being terrified.
The old Nora would have kept quiet. Would have accepted Noah’s dismissal of her fears. Would have waited and hoped the threat would go away on its own.
But Shadowveil had changed her. Had taught her that waiting and hoping got you killed. That sometimes, you had to take action yourself.
So Nora made a plan.
She spent three days preparing. On the first day, she went to a thrift store during her lunch break and bought clothes completely unlike anything she owned. Baggy jeans. An oversized sweatshirt. A baseball cap. Cheap sunglasses. Things that would make her look different, unrecognizable.
On the second day, she studied the area around her bank. Found vantage points. Places where someone could watch without being seen. A coffee shop with windows facing the bank. A bus stop with a bench. An alley entrance that offered shadows and concealment.
On the third day, she told Susan she needed to take a personal day. A family emergency. Susan agreed without question, and Nora felt guilty for lying but pushed the guilt aside. This was more important.
The morning of her plan, Nora woke before dawn. Noah was still asleep, his arm thrown across the pillow where her head should have been. She watched him for a moment, memorizing his face, wondering if this was a mistake.
But she couldn’t keep living like this.
She needed to know.
Nora dressed quietly in the bathroom, pulling on the clothes she’d hidden in the back of their closet. The baggy jeans hung loose on her frame. The sweatshirt was three sizes too big. She tucked her hair under the baseball cap and put on the sunglasses, even though it was still dark outside.
She looked at herself in the mirror and barely recognized the person staring back. Good. That was the point.
Nora left a note for Noah on the kitchen counter. “Went to work early. Love you.” Short, simple, nothing to make him suspicious. She grabbed her keys and slipped out of the apartment before the sun had fully risen.
The subway was mostly empty this early. A few shift workers heading to early jobs. A handful of students with backpacks. Nora kept her head down, the baseball cap pulled low, and tried to look like just another anonymous commuter.
She got off two stops before her usual station and walked the rest of the way, approaching the bank from a different direction than she normally would. The coffee shop she’d identified was just opening, the barista inside flipping the sign from “Closed” to “Open.”
Nora went in and ordered a coffee she didn’t want, then took a seat by the window. From here, she had a perfect view of the spot where the figure usually stood. The street across from the bank. The exact place where they always waited.
She pulled out her phone, pretending to scroll through it, but her eyes never left that spot.
The bank opened at nine. Nora’s shift would normally start at eight-thirty. By eight-fifteen, a few early employees had arrived, unlocking doors, turning on lights. The street started to fill with morning commuters, people rushing to their jobs, cars honking in traffic.
But no figure in black. No hooded watcher.
Nora waited. Sipped her coffee. Ordered another one when the first was gone. The barista was starting to give her odd looks, probably wondering why she was camping out in the coffee shop during the morning rush.
Nine o’clock came and went. Then nine-thirty. Nora’s heart sank. Maybe he wasn't coming today. Maybe he only showed up when she was there. Maybe this whole plan was pointless.
She was about to give up when she saw movement.
A figure emerged from around the corner. Dressed in black. Wearing a hoodie as usual that hid the face. The figure moved with purpose, heading straight for the spot across from the bank.
Nora’s breath caught. She set down her coffee and leaned forward slightly, watching.
The figure took up their usual position. Standing perfectly still, facing the bank entrance. Waiting.
For several minutes, nothing happened. The figure just stood there. Cars passed. Pedestrians walked by. The city continued its morning rhythm.
Then, slowly, the figure’s posture changed. Their head turned, scanning the street. Looking for something. Looking for someone.
Looking for Nora.
When they didn’t see her, when it became clear she wasn’t coming, the figure’s shoulders slumped slightly. Disappointment? Confusion? From this distance, Nora couldn’t tell.
Then, finally, the figure reached up.
Their hands went to the hood.
Nora leaned even closer to the window, her heart hammering. This was it. She was about to see who had been watching her. About to know if her fears were justified or if Noah was right and she was just paranoid.
The hood came down.
And Nora’s entire world stopped.
It was a man. Mid-thirties, maybe. Short dark hair. A face that was intimately familiar because she’d spent eight years of her life looking at it. A face she’d loved. A face she’d trusted. A face she’d believed was lost to her forever when he declared her dead and moved on with his life.
Ben.
Her husband. The man she’d been married to. The father of her children. Standing across from her workplace, dressed in black, watching for her.
Ben.
Nora’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling the gasp that wanted to escape. Her coffee cup tipped over, spilling across the table, but she barely noticed. All she could do was stare at the man across the street.
Her mind raced, trying to make sense of what she was seeing. Ben was supposed to be gone. Remarried. Living somewhere else with her children. He’d declared her dead. Moved on. Why was he here? Why was he watching her?