Watching back

Chapter Eight:

Ethan was on his feet before Zara had fully processed what she was looking at.

"He's outside," he said, already moving toward the door. "He's got to still be close. That photo was taken one minute ago."

"Ethan, wait—" Zara grabbed his arm, pulling him back before he could push through the coffee shop door. "If it is him, and you go running out there looking furious, he'll just disappear. He's had two years of practice staying hidden. You're not going to catch him by charging outside like an angry boyfriend in a movie."

Ethan stopped, breathing hard, some of the heat in his expression giving way to frustrated logic. "So what do we do? Just sit here and let him keep watching us?"

"We think," Zara said, though her own hands were shaking as she said it, adrenaline and fear tangled together into something that made it hard to sit still. "Carefully. Because if this really is Tanner, and he's willing to follow me across states to keep doing this, then he's not going to just fold the second we confront him. People like that don't stop because you catch them. They escalate."

Ethan sank back down into the booth across from her, jaw tight, and for a moment neither of them said anything, both scanning the street outside through the coffee shop window like the photographer might still be visible somewhere in the thin evening foot traffic.

Nobody was there. Whoever had taken the photo was already gone, or good enough at hiding to make it look that way.

"We need Maya," Zara said finally. "And Chris. If Tanner's really the one doing this, we need people who can help us figure out his schedule, his patterns, whether he's really who I think he is before we do anything that tips him off that we know."

"Agreed." Ethan was already typing. "I'm telling Chris everything. He knows Tanner better than I do — they're in the same fraternity pledge class. If anyone can get information without raising suspicion, it's him."

They regrouped that night in Zara and Maya's apartment, the four of them crowded around the small kitchen table — Zara and Ethan on one side, Maya and Chris on the other, phones and laptops scattered between them like evidence at a crime scene, which, in a way, was exactly what this had become.

"Okay," Chris said, scrubbing a hand over his face. "So let me get this straight. You think Danny Tanner from my pledge class has been stalking Zara for two years and is now blackmailing her with revenge photos from high school."

"His name's not Danny," Zara said. "It's just Tanner. And I don't think he transferred here by accident."

"Right, no, I heard you the first time, I'm just—" Chris shook his head. "I've known the guy for over a year. He's quiet. Keeps to himself. I never would've guessed—"

"That's the point," Ethan said grimly. "People like that count on nobody guessing."

"Do you have his number?" Maya asked. "If we could compare it to any of the numbers that have texted Zara—"

"He wouldn't use his real number," Zara said immediately. "He's been too careful for that. Every message has come from a different number. He's clearly used burner apps or something similar. There's no way to trace it that easily."

"Then we need something else," Ethan said. "Proof. Something concrete enough to take to the Dean of Students, because right now all we have is a theory and a coincidence about a nickname."

"What about the photo he sent tonight?" Chris asked. "The one taken outside the coffee shop. If we can figure out the angle it was taken from, maybe there's a camera somewhere on that street, something that could catch whoever was standing there."

Zara's heart lifted slightly at that — the first genuinely useful idea any of them had come up with all night. "The bank on the corner has security cameras. I've seen them before, they face the street."

"That's something," Ethan said. "Not proof yet, but something. We could ask if they'd let us see the footage."

"They won't just hand over security footage to random students," Maya pointed out. "We'd probably need actual police involvement for that, or at least campus security backing us up."

"Then that's the move," Ethan said. "Tomorrow morning. We go to the Dean of Students together, lay out everything — the messages, the timeline, the coffee shop photo — and ask for help getting that footage before it gets overwritten."

Zara felt a flicker of the old fear rear up immediately. "If we go to the Dean, this becomes official. There's a real chance this gets out before we even find him. My scholarship review is barely four months away, Ethan. If word gets out that there's some scandal attached to my name, official complaint or not, it could tank everything I've worked to rebuild."

"I know that's a real risk," Ethan said gently. "But right now, the alternative is staying quiet and hoping he just decides to stop on his own. Has that ever worked? With anyone like this?"

Zara didn't have an answer, because she already knew it hadn't, not with Derek two years ago, not with anyone who'd ever decided her pain was worth using as leverage.

"Okay," she said finally, quiet but resolved. "Tomorrow. The Dean. Together."

The Dean of Students' office was exactly the kind of sterile, beige room designed to make people feel like whatever brought them there mattered less than it actually did. Dean Patricia Alvarez, a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties who'd clearly heard every version of campus drama at least twice, listened to their entire story without interrupting once, her expression carefully neutral in a way that gave nothing away.

When they finished, she was quiet for a long moment, tapping a pen against a legal pad covered in notes.

"I want to be direct with you both," she said finally. "What you're describing — targeted harassment, blackmail, distribution of private images — this is serious, and it's the kind of thing our office takes very seriously. But I need to be honest about the limitations here too. Without concrete proof tying a specific individual to these messages, my hands are somewhat tied on disciplinary action, even if I believe every word you're telling me."

"What about the bank's security footage?" Ethan asked. "If we could get that, showing someone standing outside the coffee shop at the exact timestamp on the photo—"

"That would help significantly," Dean Alvarez said. "I can make a call to campus security and have them formally request that footage through the proper channels, citing this as an active harassment investigation. That carries more weight than a student request alone." She looked at Zara, something softening slightly in her expression. "Ms. Cole, I want you to know — regardless of what this individual is threatening to expose, nothing about a private photo shared without your consent reflects poorly on you. If this reaches my desk formally, my focus will be entirely on the person responsible for the harassment, not on judging you for something that was done to you, not by you."

Zara felt something loosen slightly in her chest, a small, unfamiliar relief at hearing an authority figure say the thing she'd needed to hear for two years and had never once gotten from anyone in a position to actually help.

"Thank you," she said quietly.

"In the meantime," Dean Alvarez continued, "I'd advise against confronting this individual directly yourselves. If he is escalating the way you're describing, direct confrontation could push him toward something more drastic. Let us pursue this through proper channels while you two focus on staying visible, staying together in public settings where you have witnesses, and documenting every single message that comes through, no matter how small."

"There's a deadline," Zara said. "Friday. He said if I don't end things with Ethan publicly by then, he sends everything to the whole student body, plus the scholarship committee."

Dean Alvarez's expression tightened. "That gives us three days. I'll push the security footage request as urgent, first thing this afternoon. In the meantime, I want you to come back if anything else arrives, immediately, day or night — here's my direct line." She slid a card across the desk. "You are not going through this alone, Ms. Cole. I intend to make sure of that."

They left the Dean's office with something that felt, for the first time in over a week, like actual forward motion instead of helpless waiting. Ethan walked Zara across the quad afterward, close enough that their hands brushed more than once, both of them too aware of the possibility of watching eyes to do anything more than let the accidental contact linger a beat longer than necessary.

"How are you doing?" Ethan asked, glancing sideways at her. "Really."

"Honestly? Better than I have in weeks." Zara let out a breath, some of the tension in her shoulders easing for the first time in days. "I think some part of me has been carrying this completely alone for two years, and having actual people in my corner — you, Maya, Chris, even the Dean — it changes something. I didn't realize how heavy it was until some of the weight came off."

"You were never actually alone," Ethan said quietly. "Even before any of this. I don't think you let yourself believe that, but it's true."

Zara looked over at him, something warm blooming in her chest despite everything, despite the deadline still hanging over both their heads like a blade waiting to drop.

"Careful," she said, though there was no real bite behind it anymore, none of the sharp deflection she used to reach for automatically. "You keep saying things like that, I might start believing them."

"Good," Ethan said simply. "I'd like you to."

They stopped at the edge of the quad, the same spot they'd stood weeks ago after their first real study session, and for a moment neither of them moved to walk away, the late afternoon light slanting gold across both their faces.

"Can I do something?" Ethan asked quietly. "You can say no. I won't be upset."

Zara's heart started pounding, some instinct already guessing exactly what he meant. "What?"

Instead of answering, he reached up slowly, giving her every chance to step back, and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering, warm against her skin, for just a moment longer than the gesture strictly required.

"I've wanted to do that for about three weeks," he admitted, voice low.

Zara's breath caught, her whole body suddenly, acutely aware of how close he was standing, how his hand hadn't fully dropped away, how the space between them had somehow narrowed to almost nothing without either of them consciously deciding to close it.

"Only three weeks?" she managed, though her voice came out softer than she meant it to.

"Maybe longer," Ethan admitted. "Maybe since the party. I just didn't want to admit it to myself yet."

"That's a really long time to want something and not say anything."

"I'm cautious," Ethan said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his mouth. "Comes with the territory of never doing anything spontaneous, remember?"

"I remember," Zara said softly. "I think I liked breaking that habit of yours."

"You've broken a lot of my habits," Ethan said, and there was something so quietly, devastatingly honest in the way he said it that Zara felt her heart clench painfully with how much she wanted, right then, to close the last few inches of distance between them and find out exactly what it would feel like to kiss him.

She almost did it. She could feel the exact moment they both leaned in, fractionally, an instinct neither of them fully controlled, could feel the way the air between them had gone electric and still all at once.

A group of students walked past, loud and laughing, breaking the moment before either of them could finish what they'd started, and Zara stepped back half a step, breathless, heart pounding, some old instinct for self-preservation kicking back in despite everything.

"Not here," she said quietly, though it cost her something to say it. "Not with him still watching."

Ethan's expression flickered with something like disappointment, quickly smoothed over into understanding. "Right. Of course. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking—"

"Don't apologize." She reached out, briefly, and squeezed his hand. "I wanted to. That's not the problem. I just — I need this Friday deadline gone first. I need to know he's not standing somewhere right now, photographing whatever happens next between us, before I let myself have this the way I actually want to have it."

"Okay," Ethan said softly. "Then we get through Friday. And after that—"

"After that," Zara agreed, something warm and hopeful blooming despite everything, "we figure out what we actually are, without anyone else's camera involved."

That night, back in her apartment, Zara sat cross-legged on her bed scrolling back through every message the blackmailer had ever sent her, looking for patterns she might have missed the first dozen times through — word choices, timing, anything that might narrow down whether this really was Tanner or someone else entirely.

Maya knocked and let herself in without waiting for an answer, dropping onto the bed beside her.

"How'd it go with the Dean?"

"Better than I expected. She actually seemed like she cared." Zara set her phone down, exhaling slowly. "And something happened with Ethan afterward. Almost happened, I mean."

Maya's eyebrows shot up immediately. "Almost happened as in—"

"As in we almost kissed. In the middle of the quad. And I stopped it, because I couldn't stop thinking about whether Tanner or whoever it is might be standing somewhere with a camera, waiting."

"Zara." Maya's voice softened. "You know that's not fair to you, right? Living like that. Letting him control even the good moments."

"I know. I just — I need this resolved first. I can't let myself have something good with Ethan while there's a countdown clock hanging over both our heads. It doesn't feel fair to either of us."

"I get that." Maya was quiet for a moment. "For what it's worth, though — the way you talked about almost kissing him? I haven't heard you sound like that in two years. Not once."

Zara felt her face warm, something soft and hopeful blooming despite the exhaustion and fear still tangled through everything else she was feeling. "Yeah," she admitted quietly. "Me neither."

Her phone buzzed on the bed between them, and both girls went instantly, reflexively still, the warmth of the last few minutes evaporating in an instant.

Zara picked it up with hands that had started shaking again, an old, exhausted reflex she hated but couldn't seem to shake.

It wasn't a threat this time. It was worse, somehow, in its own quiet way — an email from Dean Alvarez's office, sent at nine at night, which meant whatever it contained had felt urgent enough not to wait until morning.

Ms. Cole — the bank has agreed to release the security footage to campus security first thing tomorrow morning. However, I wanted to alert you to something concerning tonight: campus security found an envelope taped to your dormitory door approximately one hour ago. It has been collected for review, but out of an abundance of caution, I'd like you to come to my office first thing tomorrow before class. Please bring a friend if that would make you more comfortable. — Dean Alvarez

Zara's blood ran cold, the phone nearly slipping from her fingers.

"What?" Maya's voice was sharp with alarm, already reading over her shoulder. "Oh my god. Someone left something on our door? Tonight? While we were sitting right here?"

Zara stood up fast, crossing to the window, staring down at the street below their building with a dread that settled deep and cold in her stomach. The street was empty, quiet, ordinary, giving absolutely no indication that someone had stood right outside their door within the last hour, close enough to touch, close enough that if either of them had simply glanced through the peephole at the wrong moment, they might have seen exactly who'd been standing there.

"He was here," she whispered. "Maya, he was right outside our door. While we were sitting in here talking about Ethan. He was right there."

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, when she looked down, the message came from yet another unknown number, three words long, colder and more deliberate than anything that had come before it.

Sleep well, Zara.