The next day in school, Silas sat stiffly at his desk, his eyes fixed on the scratched surface of the wooden table. He could feel it again—that unshakable prickle between his shoulder blades, the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

  He didn’t know how the man was doing it. Was it a hidden camera? Was he inside the school itself, lurking just out of sight? Whatever the method, Silas had learned enough to recognize the pattern: the man never let him feel alone.

  “Hey, Silas, what’s up?”

  Evan’s voice broke the silence, as casual as ever. He leaned slightly toward Silas, his short frame barely filling the chair, his messy hair falling into his eyes.

  “Nothing’s up. Keep your nose out of other people’s business,” Silas said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

  Evan blinked. “What’s with you today? Is the killer thing getting into your head?”

  Silas’s voice hardened, just loud enough to sting. “Enough. Don’t talk to me again.”

  The words hit like a slap. Evan froze, the color draining from his face. “Did I… do something wrong?” he asked, his voice small, uncertain.

  Silas clenched his jaw and didn’t reply. He stared straight ahead, forcing his expression into icy calm even as his stomach twisted.

  From somewhere—he didn’t know where—the man was watching. Silas could feel it like a hand at his throat. And the man was satisfied. He could imagine that cruel smile curving behind the mask, knowing Silas had followed orders.

  By recess, Evan had understood. Silas was no longer his friend. He didn’t walk with him, didn’t speak to him, didn’t even look at him. The message had been clear enough.

  But Silas couldn’t stop his eyes from flickering sideways every so often. He watched Evan laugh at someone’s joke, shove his hands in his pockets as he wandered the hallway, sit down with a group of classmates who welcomed him easily enough. Evan looked fine. Normal. Happy, even.

  But he wasn’t. Silas knew him well enough to see the cracks—the way his smile was just a little too forced, the way his leg bounced restlessly under the desk, the way he kept shooting quick, questioning glances at Silas when he thought he wasn’t looking.

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  It gnawed at Silas. But worse, it gave him time to observe something else.

  The man’s presence wasn’t constant. It shifted. Silas began to study it carefully, quietly, with the same precision he used when solving a difficult puzzle. He noticed how the weight of being watched would intensify, then waver. Every few minutes, it would disappear altogether, only for a few seconds—like a predator adjusting its stance, like a sniper blinking behind the scope.

  A blind spot.

  It wasn’t much, but it was enough.

  Silas timed it in his head, rehearsing what he would say. Too short to explain everything, but long enough to plant the truth.

  At lunch, Evan sat across from him, his tray clattering onto the table. His eyes flicked up nervously. “You’re not going to bite my head off for sitting here, are you?” he muttered, half-joking.

  Silas didn’t answer right away. He kept his eyes on his food, stabbing at it mechanically. He waited. Counted down. And when the pressure on his shoulders suddenly lifted, when he knew the man’s gaze had shifted elsewhere, he leaned forward.

  “Listen closely,” Silas said, his voice barely above a whisper. “What I said earlier—it wasn’t true. You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re being watched. I’m being watched. They’ve taken my sister.”

  Evan froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. His eyes widened. “What… what are you talking about?” he breathed.

  “Don’t look around,” Silas hissed, his tone urgent. “Act normal. Just eat.” He shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth to demonstrate, chewing mechanically. “I don’t have much time. But you need to understand—your life is in danger too. Your name is on the board.”

  Evan’s face went pale. His lips parted, but his voice cracked when he tried to speak.

  Silas shook his head sharply. “Don’t talk. Just listen. When the time is right, I’ll explain everything. Until then, play along. Pretend we’re nothing to each other.”

  Evan’s hands trembled under the table, his fork scraping uselessly against his tray. He wanted to demand answers, to shake Silas until he gave him the truth, but something in Silas’s expression stopped him cold. There was no room for argument in his eyes—only raw urgency.

  The pressure returned. Silas felt it immediately, like a noose tightening around his neck. He leaned back, resuming the role, stabbing his food with a look of disgust.

  Evan sat frozen for a long moment, then finally dropped his eyes to his tray and forced a bite into his mouth. His chest rose and fell too fast, like he was trying not to choke on his own panic.

  Silas didn’t look at him again. He couldn’t.

  From the shadows, the man smiled once more. To him, it was the same scene as always—two boys sharing an awkward, silent lunch. Nothing more.

  But beneath that silence, in the gap carved out of his blind spots, Silas had finally managed to slip the truth through the cracks.