Chapter 6 — Untraceable Gifts

Adrian didn’t remember walking home.

One moment he was standing outside the café, the lighter still trembling in his hand, the cold air slicing through his sweater. The next, he was inside his apartment, door locked, the lights on in every room.

He hadn’t used the lighter, but he hadn’t thrown it away either.

It now sat on the kitchen counter like a silver threat.

He stared at it for a long time, waiting for it to explain itself.

How had he gotten it? How had Evan known to give it to him? More importantly—what did it mean that Evan knew his name and face?

And why didn’t he feel more anger?

He should be furious. Scared out of his mind. But beneath the fear, there was a subtle, uncomfortable warmth.

Someone saw him.

Not just in passing—not a glance or a gaze—but really saw him. Noticed details. Remembered things. Cared enough to follow him, to learn him. That fact sat in his chest like a thorn: dangerous, but undeniably real.

He didn’t sleep.

Again.

He paced the apartment, checked the locks three times, ignored every notification on his phone. Jace had called. Left a voice message.

Adrian didn’t listen.

His attention was locked on the counter. On the lighter. On what it symbolized.

By morning, a new package was waiting.

It was smaller than the first box but heavier. Plain brown cardboard, sealed with clear tape. No label. No writing. Just like before.

He stared at it for over a minute before picking it up.

The weight unsettled him.

He opened it with a knife, slow and careful, like he was diffusing a bomb.

Inside was a sketchbook.

Not just any sketchbook.

His sketchbook.

One he thought he’d thrown out six months ago. The pages were bent, some torn, but the contents were unmistakable. Smudged charcoal drawings, messy ink outlines, harsh cross-hatching that mirrored his worst nights. Drawings he’d created during the week of his lowest spiral. He had ripped them out. Crumpled them. Tossed them into the dumpster behind his building.

He hadn’t even told his therapist about all of them.

And yet here it was—whole, preserved, returned.

Adrian’s hands shook as he flipped through it.

Between two of the pages was something else.

A small, sealed envelope. On the front, in elegant handwriting:

“Only she was supposed to know.”

Adrian felt his stomach twist.

He opened the envelope with trembling fingers.

Inside was a printed copy of a therapy transcript.

Not notes.

A word-for-word transcript of a private online therapy session.

One where he talked about self-harming thoughts. About feeling invisible. About the dream where he drowned while no one noticed.

The only person who ever heard those words was Riley, his therapist.

No one else had access. He used a secure, encrypted platform. It wasn’t even saved on his laptop.

How?

How could Evan have possibly—

He dropped everything and stumbled to his desk, yanking open drawers until he found his backup hard drive.

He plugged it in, scouring folders, logs, transcripts. Everything seemed untouched… until he noticed a single file he hadn’t created.

“Reflection.mp4”

His skin went cold.

He clicked it.

The video opened with a grainy image of his bedroom. A wide shot from above, as if captured by a hidden camera in the corner of the ceiling.

There he was—sleeping. Restless. Shirt slipping from his shoulder. Breathing uneven. Alone.

A timestamp glowed in the corner.

Two weeks ago. 2:57 a.m.

Then, movement.

From the edge of the frame, a man entered.

Black clothes. Covered face. Slow, calculated steps. He approached the bed but didn’t touch Adrian. He knelt.

Watched him.

Watched him sleep for a full five minutes.

Then stood.

Moved to the wall.

And placed something on the nightstand.

The first black box.

Adrian slammed the laptop closed so hard it echoed.

He ran to the bedroom and scanned every inch. Behind the mirror. Under the bed. In the ceiling corners.

Nothing.

But now he knew.

Evan had been here. More than once.

He had access to his files. His therapy. His discarded art.

He had access to Adrian.

Completely.

Adrian curled into a ball in the hallway, chest tight, eyes wide, barely able to comprehend the depth of the invasion.

This wasn’t a crush.

This was ownership.

Control.

He knows everything, Adrian thought. He has always known.

And as the silence stretched around him, he remembered Evan’s words at the café.

“I’m told I have one of those faces.”

Adrian hadn’t recognized him, but the man had already memorized him.

He shook violently, tears stinging the corners of his eyes.

This wasn’t just a stalker.

This was someone who had rewritten the rules of what it meant to watch.

Someone who didn’t need to knock because he never left in the first place.