#####CHAPTER 5: The Echoes of Eyes, I Cannot See

‎Elena’s POV

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‎The dream returned again, as relentless as the tide.

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‎I was walking through a street I didn’t know, rain slicking the cobblestones, the glow of lanterns reflecting in puddles that seemed deeper than they should be. And he was there — a presence I couldn’t see clearly, but one that pressed against me in ways I didn’t understand. A shadow brushing against the edges of my awareness, a whisper brushing my ear though no one spoke.

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‎“Elena,” the voice murmured, low, steady. Familiar and impossible all at once. My chest tightened. I reached out into the dark, but my hands met only empty air.

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‎I woke with my heart hammering, the sheets twisted around my limbs. The clock read 3:14 a.m. Outside, the city was asleep, the hum of distant traffic low and indifferent. Yet the echo of the dream lingered, stretching tendrils into the corners of my bedroom.

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‎I couldn’t shake it.

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‎Morning came reluctantly, gray and hesitant. Sunlight slipped through the blinds, thin and pale, brushing across the floorboards where dust danced in motes. I moved through my apartment quietly, making coffee, listening to the faint rattle of the radiator.

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‎The dream clung to me, a sticky residue in the back of my mind. Every step felt heavier than it should, as though the air itself had grown dense overnight.

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‎At the shop, I tried to focus. Arranging flowers, greeting customers, laughing with Mila when she teased me about still being sleepy — everything was normal, ordinary. But I noticed the small things that felt wrong.

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‎A delivery box left slightly ajar.

‎A shadow that lingered too long by the window.

‎A faint scrape, like someone’s shoe on the wet pavement outside.

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‎Each little sign I tried to dismiss. But the awareness prickled at my skin, tugging at the corners of my senses. Someone was here. Someone was watching.

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‎By the time I walked home, the streets were slick from a sudden rain. Steam rose from manhole covers, curling in thin, ghostlike tendrils. My coat was too light for the chill, and I pulled it tighter, glancing over my shoulder more times than I wanted to admit.

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‎Nothing.

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‎And yet, I couldn’t shake it — the feeling that someone moved when I did, lingered when I stopped, and vanished when I dared to look.

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‎At home, I closed the door behind me, locked it, and leaned against it. My heartbeat was loud in my ears. My apartment was supposed to be safe. Mine. Alone.

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‎The hum of the refrigerator, the tick of the clock, the muffled city — all normal. But the dream hadn’t ended. Not entirely. It hummed faintly in the air around me, and with it came the scent.

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‎It was subtle at first — a trace of something sharp, like metal and rain, layered with something warmer, something almost sweet. I froze. My pulse jumped.

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‎It shouldn’t have been there.

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‎I moved slowly through the apartment, scanning every familiar corner, every object I’d placed myself. Nothing. Everything was exactly as I left it. And yet… the scent lingered, brushing against my senses, impossible and intimate all at once.

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‎I pressed a hand to my chest. My mind tried to rationalize — maybe a neighbor’s cigarette, maybe something from outside the building. But deep down, I knew. I knew it was him.

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‎And I didn’t know how to feel.

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‎Fear twisted with an odd, unnameable warmth. Anger curled in my stomach, demanding I find him, confront him. But a small part of me — the part that had felt safe in the dream, that had felt the brush of his unseen presence — trembled with curiosity instead.

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‎I closed my eyes, inhaling, holding onto the scent as though it were a fragile thread. My pulse slowed slightly, even as my mind screamed at me to move, to lock every door, to hide.

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‎---

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‎Sleep came reluctantly that night. My dreams were no longer vague. He was there in fragments: a shadow leaning just beyond the lamplight, the glint of pale eyes under a hood, a faint warmth in the space where his hand should have been.

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‎I woke often, trembling, every time catching the faint trace of him — the same scent, drifting through the apartment like a promise I couldn’t place.

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‎I wanted to leave a note for Mila, to tell her I was scared, but the words felt foolish, inadequate. I couldn’t explain it. No one could understand. Not the dreams, not the feeling of being watched without seeing, not the pull that seemed to tether me to someone I hadn’t met.

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‎And yet, even with all the fear, even with the panic that gnawed at the edges of my thoughts, there was a magnetism I couldn’t deny.

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‎I tried to tell myself it was wrong. Dangerous. That someone watching me — lurking, leaving traces — could never be safe.

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‎But my body betrayed me. The lingering scent seemed to seep into my skin, into my bones, leaving a warmth that clashed violently with the terror I felt.

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‎By morning, I was exhausted, my hair damp from restless nights, eyes rimmed with fatigue. I moved through the small routines that anchored me: coffee, shower, checking the locks — multiple times. Everything seemed ordinary. Normal. Secure.

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‎But the scent remained. A whisper in my senses, hovering just beyond comprehension. It was impossible to ignore, impossible to shake. And it terrified me in ways I couldn’t name.

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‎I sat by the window for a long time, staring at the city. People passed below, oblivious. Cars hummed past. Dogs barked in the distance. Life went on as it always had.

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‎And yet, I knew. Someone had been in my space, had touched the edges of my life, had left a mark I couldn’t see but could feel.

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‎It wasn’t the boxes on the shop floor, or the shadow in the street, or even the dreams. It was this: the faint, impossible trace of him, lingering in my world, haunting me with his presence, teasing the edges of my understanding.

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‎A scent.

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‎Familiar. Unknown.

‎Warm. Dangerous.

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‎I pressed my palms to my eyes. The city outside blurred, rain streaking the glass, making the lights shimmer like fractured stars. I couldn’t name the danger. I couldn’t see it clearly. I didn’t even know him.

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‎But I knew this: I was no longer alone.

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‎And something in me — a mix of fear, curiosity, and that strange, magnetic longing — knew I would never forget it.

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‎---

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‎The apartment was silent now.

‎Too silent.

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‎I turned over in bed, trying to convince myself that sleep would return. The lingering scent hovered in my senses like a promise, like a warning, like a shadow just beyond the veil of understanding.

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‎And somewhere in the darkness, the echo of eyes I could not see pressed against me, unseen but undeniable.

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‎I shivered.

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‎And then I realized — I would never be able to ignore it.