Chapter 1: The Shadow in the Crowd
Eliza had always loved the anonymity of the city. The bustling streets of Chicago were a comforting cloak, a place where she could be both unseen and connected. She reveled in the energy, the endless stream of faces, each a story untold. Until he started watching.
It began subtly. A fleeting impression, a glance that lingered a second too long. She'd catch a man's eye on the train, or notice him a few paces behind her on her walk home from work. He was unremarkable, really. Middle-aged, thinning hair, always in a drab, grey coat that seemed to swallow him whole. His face was forgettable, a blank canvas. That was precisely what made him so unnerving.
At first, she dismissed it as coincidence. The city was full of people, and coincidences happened. But then it became more frequent. She'd see him waiting at her bus stop, or perched on a bench across the street from her apartment building. He never spoke, never approached. He just watched.
The feeling of unease grew, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. She started altering her routines, taking different routes to work, varying her lunch breaks. It didn't matter. He was always there, a silent, persistent shadow.
One evening, returning from a late shift, she saw him standing directly across the street, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp. For the first time, she saw his eyes clearly. They were devoid of warmth, cold and vacant. A chill ran down her spine, and she scrambled for her keys, fumbling in the semi-darkness of the doorway. As she finally got the door open and rushed inside, she risked a glance back. He was still there, unmoving, a statue carved from darkness. That night Eliza didn't sleep.
Eliza had always loved the anonymity of the city. The bustling streets of Chicago were a comforting cloak, a place where she could be both unseen and connected. She reveled in the energy, the endless stream of faces, each a story untold. Until he started watching.
It began subtly. A fleeting impression, a glance that lingered a second too long. She'd catch a man's eye on the train, or notice him a few paces behind her on her walk home from work. He was unremarkable, really. Middle-aged, thinning hair, always in a drab, grey coat that seemed to swallow him whole. His face was forgettable, a blank canvas. That was precisely what made him so unnerving.
At first, she dismissed it as coincidence. The city was full of people, and coincidences happened. But then it became more frequent. She'd see him waiting at her bus stop, or perched on a bench across the street from her apartment building. He never spoke, never approached. He just watched.
The feeling of unease grew, a cold knot tightening in her stomach. She started altering her routines, taking different routes to work, varying her lunch breaks. It didn't matter. He was always there, a silent, persistent shadow.
One evening, returning from a late shift, she saw him standing directly across the street, bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a streetlamp. For the first time, she saw his eyes clearly. They were devoid of warmth, cold and vacant. A chill ran down her spine, and she scrambled for her keys, fumbling in the semi-darkness of the doorway. As she finally got the door open and rushed inside, she risked a glance back. He was still there, unmoving, a statue carved from darkness. That night Eliza didn't sleep.
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