The final whistle blew an hour ago. The bleachers are empty now, the roar of the crowd replaced by the hum of flickering parking lot lights. Your uniform is still on. Your phone buzzes — your ride is running late. You lean against the chain-link gate, thumbs moving across your screen, alone. Then you feel it. That crawling sense of being watched. You glance up and see a figure standing motionless near the far end of the lot, just outside the light's reach. He isn't walking to a car. He isn't looking at his phone. He is just standing there — completely still — facing you.