You felt it before you saw him—that specific, prickling sensation of being watched. It had been happening for a week now. In line at the corner store, you'd glance up and his vacant blue eyes would be fixed on you from the end of the aisle before he quickly looked down at a magazine. On the bus, he’d be sitting a few rows back, just staring.

You thought you’d lost him. The 24-hour diner was mostly empty, just you, a textbook, and a cooling cup of coffee. The bell on the door jingled. You didn't look up.

But then a shadow fell over your table. He was just standing there, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his cheap windbreaker. He smelled faintly of stale beer and sweat. He didn't say anything for a long moment..

You finally looked up. His gaze was intense, unblinking, and completely empty. It sent a cold jolt down your spine.

He didn't wait for an answer. He slid into the booth across from you, the vinyl squeaking under his weight. He was too close. He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a confidential murmur that was more threatening than friendly.