Amy's hands shook as she stared out the window.
Rowan was still there. Across the street. Motionless. Watching. Not typing. Not holding a device. Just standing. Waiting.
Her phone buzzed again. An unknown number.
Check the timestamp. Follow the edits.
She didn't need to read it twice. Her pulse hammered. She turned to Jamie and Chloe.
"It's happening again," she whispered.
Jamie leaned over her shoulder, scanning the message. "The edits... they match the same pattern as Echo_Draft."
Chloe swallowed hard. "But he's outside. He didn't send this."
Amy nodded, swallowing the panic clawing at her throat. "Exactly. That's the point."
Another message arrived.
Look at the file names. Compare drafts. He's watching, but not him.
Amy's stomach twisted. The words were cold. Calculated. Precise.
"Someone else?" Chloe asked.
"Or more than one," Jamie said quietly. "We're not dealing with a single person we are dealing with multiple and at this moment part of me thinks that Rowan could have something to do with all of this."
Amy forced herself to look at Rowan. His face was calm. Almost casual. But his eyes... there was something there. Sharp. Alert. Watching her notice him noticing her.
"Do you think..." Amy began, but the words stuck in her throat.
Rowan moved then. Just a small shift. A tilt of his head. Nothing else. But it made her pulse spike.
Her phone buzzed again.
He left clues. You ignored them. Now it's your turn.
Amy's breath caught. "My turn?"
Jamie frowned. "They mean you have to respond? Or... act?"
Before she could answer, her laptop pinged. Echo_Draft.docx had updated automatically. She clicked.
The new version opened.
Her own words stared back. But they weren't hers anymore. Every paragraph reworked. Sharper. Darker. Every sentence seemed designed to push her in one direction—toward a realization she wasn't ready for.
At the bottom:
Do you see now? You're inside it.
Amy froze.
Inside it.
The photo of Rowan and the girl three years ago. The edits. The messages. Every small "coincidence" she'd noticed in the past week. Someone was orchestrating everything from behind the screen. But who? And why?
Her gaze flicked to Rowan again.
He was still there. Quiet. Calm. But tense in a way that didn't belong to someone completely innocent.
"Rowan," Amy said, her voice barely a whisper.
He looked up. Their eyes locked.
"You... you didn't send these," she said.
He shook his head slightly. "No. Not... exactly."
Amy's heart skipped. "Not exactly?"
He stepped back, disappearing from her line of sight behind the hedge. Only for a second. But the moment felt deliberate.
Then her phone buzzed again. Another unknown number.
Pay attention to the timestamps. They're all connected. The girl. The edits. The names. Every little thing is deliberate.
Amy turned to Jamie. "We need to track it. Every draft. Every message. Every photo. Everything. Now."
Jamie nodded, already pulling up the archived screenshots.
Chloe wrapped her arms around herself. "But... who's the girl? A.W.? Rowan's sister? Or... someone else entirely?"
Amy's gaze returned to the empty street. The five minutes between her house and the writing club stretched impossibly long in her mind.
Someone was always close. Always watching. Always controlling.
And Rowan...
Rowan might be caught in it. Or he might be closer than anyone realized.
Amy swallowed hard.
Either way, she was inside it.
And there was no turning back.