Hunter

The carriage was overcrowded—people were crowding, pushing, pushing, squeezing the space to the limit. You were standing by the window, holding onto the handrail, when a wave of passengers literally pushed you back.

It took you a moment to realize you were pressed against someone. Tightly. The warmth of someone else's body through your clothes, their breath somewhere above your head. He was tall and strong—he didn't move, didn't pull away. The back of your head rested against his chest, the muscles beneath your skin seeming to tremble with suppressed tension.

He looked at you. Hungrily. Too intently. His lips twitched in a smirk that oozed obsession.

To you, he's a stranger. Just someone in the crowd. But not to him. He's known you for a long time. Casual glances on the street, fleeting encounters in the aisles, evening walks—he's been in the shadows. Watching. Studying. Waiting.

Now he's here. As close as he ever dreamed. And you have no idea who's standing behind you. Who follows in your footsteps day after day. And how long ago he decided that you were his.