Chapter 9: Enzo’s POV
Enzo’s POV
I sit in Doc Olivier’s office, but my mind is elsewhere. The sterile white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall—none of it registers. My body is here, but my thoughts are tangled in something else, something unseen yet pressing against my consciousness like an itch I can’t scratch.
Something about today feels off—as if the universe is trying to tell me something, whispering in a language I don’t understand. It started this morning. The strange breakfast that appeared in my kitchen—warm, perfectly made, yet I hadn’t cooked it. Then, the eerie sensation of being watched as I left my apartment. And now, this. Him. The man in the hallway.
He wears a mask and a cap, the brim pulled low enough to shadow his face. I never saw his features, yet something about him feels disturbingly familiar, like a song I’ve heard before but can’t recall the lyrics to. The worst part? He’s been there all day. Every single time I’ve walked through that hallway—five times now, to be exact—he’s been standing in the same spot, never moving, never looking away. A shadow just beyond reach.
A sick feeling curls in my gut. Could he be my stalker?
The thought slams into me like a truck, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. My pulse spikes, my palms dampen. I sit up straighter, forcing myself to breathe, to think. But my mind is already spiraling, racing through memories, trying to pinpoint why this presence unsettles me so much.
I can’t just sit here.
Before I fully process my decision, I’m already moving. I shoot up from my chair, barely registering Doc Olivier’s startled expression as he calls my name. His voice barely reaches me, muffled by the pounding of my heartbeat. I don’t stop.
I reach the hallway.