Jason doesn't move.
The shadow outside his door lingers, motionless, too still to be a passerby. For a heartbeat, he forgets how to breathe. His hand remains frozen on the door lock. The shape doesn't shift like someone walking past. It stays there, deliberate and patient.
*They know I'm here.*
Then, as if whoever it is senses he's on the other side, the shadow moves—but not away. It stays. Jason slowly retreats from the door, every instinct screaming at him that something is wrong. His bare feet make no sound on the cold floor. He backs toward his bed, never taking his eyes off that thin line of light at the bottom of the door.
The shadow shifts slightly. A small movement, like someone adjusting their weight. Waiting.
Jason's heart pounds so loud he's sure they can hear it through the door. His throat feels tight. The bond in his chest thrums with anxiety, making his skin crawl with restless energy.
Minutes pass. Maybe five, maybe ten. Time stretches until Jason loses track of how l
