chapter 6 Threshold

The shadows outside her apartment had changed.

They didn't move anymore. Didn't slither or stretch with the lazy rhythm of city lights. They watched. Still, heavy, patient. Like predators that didn't need to chase because they already knew where she'd run.

Isla hadn't slept well in days.

There were bruises under her eyes. Her hands shook when she poured coffee, so she stopped pouring it. Her manager accused her of attitude again, said her tips were slipping. He didn't understand that she was listening for footsteps between every sentence, watching the front door like it might grow teeth.

She didn't tell him anything. What could she say?

That someone was following her?

That she heard things at night?

Whispers in vents? Scraping behind drywall?

The voice that said her name.

No. She wasn't stupid. She knew how that sounded.

She stayed longer at work now, dragging her shifts until dawn just so she wouldn't have to walk home in the dark. Even the flickering lights and sour rot of the gas station felt safer than her own apartment.

But tonight, even the station felt wrong.

A man came in around midnight. Too clean. Synthetic-perfect skin, the kind that didn't sweat or crease. His smile was artificial, measured, like it had been built in a lab.

He didn't buy anything.

He just stood near the coolers, eyes flicking between her and the cameras. And then, he winked.

Isla's stomach turned. She hit the silent alarm even though she knew it didn't work.

He left without a word.

She locked the doors early. Didn't care if her manager fired her. Didn't care about the rules. She just needed out.

Back at the apartment, the air felt dense. Like walking into a room mid-argument.

Her hand hovered over the light switch. She turned it on slowly.

Nothing.

But her skin prickled. Every nerve screaming. She knew she was being watched.

She checked the closet. Under the bed. The bathroom. Nothing.

Still, she didn't sleep. She sat curled on the floor near her window, a knife clenched in her fist. It wasn't even sharp. Just something to hold.

When dawn finally broke, she didn't move—just stared at the pale light like it might save her.

By noon, she cracked.

She didn't go to work. Didn't shower. She barely changed her clothes.

Instead, she went to the only place that didn't echo.

The graveyard.

There weren't any names she knew here. But the quiet was real. The dead didn't watch. The dead didn't whisper.

She sat between two cracked tombstones and let the sun bleed into her skin. No shadows. Just stillness.

She started to cry.

It didn't feel dramatic. It felt like gravity—something heavy that finally snapped. Like she'd been holding in an ocean and her ribs gave out.

"Please," she whispered. To who, she didn't know. "Just stop."

Something shifted behind her.

She froze. Spun.

A man stood at the edge of the trees. Not close. Not moving. Just watching.

She couldn't see his face.

Her legs wouldn't move. Her knife she'd left at home. Her voice died in her throat.

The figure turned and vanished into the woods like smoke.

When she finally made it back to the apartment, she locked every door. Blocked the vents. Unplugged everything. Tore the camera out of her tablet. Smashed her phone with a hammer.

She curled up under the sink, back to the pipes, head in her arms.

Then, from the silence… a voice.

"You're not safe without me."

She choked on her own breath.

Her eyes darted to the cabinet door seeing it written all in red.

I SEE YOU

The city kept moving, even when she couldn't.

Neon choked the horizon, bleeding across broken streets and half-lit storefronts. Isla walked with her head down, arms crossed tight like armor, coat pulled too thin against the night. Her feet hurt. Her lungs hurt. Her mind wasn't quiet anymore.

Every alley looked like a trap.

Every face looked like it could be him.

Spiral.

She hadn't seen him since that night, the one with the blood, the heat, the blur of violence she still couldn't fully process. She told herself it was adrenaline. Shock. Fear.

But sometimes, in the silence before sleep, she'd catch herself wondering what it would've felt like if he had touched her.

A metal hand. Warm eyes. The monster no one saw coming.

And her, still standing there, not running. Not screaming. Just watching, not even attempting to stop him. What could she do?

She shook the thought away and picked up her pace. She already knew it was him. He already knows where she lives.

The Safe Transit Hub was anything but.

An old station gutted after the riots, now used as a meet-up point for cheap freight rides and shady freelance work. Isla tucked herself behind a rusted column and stared at the board blinking low-red above.

Next Departure – District 9 Slumline – 34 min

That would have to do.

She needed to get out of her part of the city for a while. Too many questions, too many strangers suddenly taking interest in her. Men she didn't recognize asking her name, hanging around the gas station with empty eyes and stiff body language.

They weren't customers. They were looking for something.

No… for someone.

And she had a sick feeling who had painted the target on her back.

Spiral had stolen more than a car that night. He'd stolen the eyes of people far above street-level crime. The kind of people who trafficked flesh like it was data silent, efficient, brutal.

And now she was the only thread left dangling.

Why did he protect me?

It didn't make sense. She didn't matter. She wasn't special. And if he wanted to use her, he would've done it already. Would've sold her, broken her, disappeared her like the others.

But he didn't.

And that scared her more than anything. But what is his goal? Is he wanting her all to himself? Is he using as her bait to get rid of the competition?

The speaker cracked overhead. A voice like static:

"All unauthorized loitering past curfew will result in detainment. Please clear the terminal."

A few people shuffled toward the freight shuttle. Isla didn't move. Something tugged in her gut. A presence not physical, but thick, pressing.

Like a pair of eyes watching from behind her ribcage.

She turned.

Her mouth dried and her body froze. In the waves of people coming in and leaving was him. Coming down the steps, eyes licking on her. Not even trying to hide himself anymore.

Isla boarded the freight line with shaking hands and tried to bury herself between two crates. Trying to blend in with the people.

"Can I buy your jacket?" She asked a young man standing on foot. "Ugh, sure $45?"

She didn't even care how much he wanted the jacket. "Here." She handed him $50 that last bit of money she had on her.

Sliding on the jacket she reached over, taking someone's hat that hung on the back of their backpack. Tucking in her hair before adjusting the cap on just right keeping her head down. Arm extended holding onto the grab rail to keep her head down and hidden from the angle.

She felt his presence. He was behind her, unsure if he was looking right at her like if her efforts of trying to hide herself failed. The sound of the match sparked lighting up his cigarette. The cherry burn reflected off of the window in front of her.

But what would he do? Would he make a scene in public?

Slowly his boots echoed down as he continued walking heading to the other cart. She sighed in relief rubbing the back of her neck that was sweating bullets down to her back.

The moment the shuttle lurched into motion, she let her head fall back and closed her eyes.

Breathe. Just breathe.

But even in the dark, her thoughts betrayed her.

She could still see the way Spiral moved like every step was calculated. Not hesitant, but not human either.

She could still hear the sound of that man's skull cracking.

Still remember the smear of blood across Spiral's cheek… and the way he looked at her like she was the last soft thing in a world full of teeth.

That look had no place on a face like his.