I sat in the back seat of Dean's sedan, my body rigid against the leather. The car smelled like his cologne, a rich, woody scent that filled the enclosed space and made it hard to breathe. I pressed my temple against the cold glass of the window, watching the city lights blur past.

Hannah was in the front seat, softly humming along to the radio. She was completely oblivious to the war raging inside my head. I hadn't spoken a word since we left the restaurant. My mind was spinning, replaying Dean's parting words over and over.

You tell a very compelling story.

Was it a warning? A threat? Or just a casual observation? I didn't know, and the uncertainty was killing me. I glanced up at the rearview mirror. Dean's eyes were already there, watching me. The reflection of the streetlights made his blue eyes look almost silver.

He wasn't just checking the traffic. He was studying me. Like a hawk watching a mouse in a field. The intensity of his gaze made my skin prickle. I quickly looked away, my hands clenching into fists in my lap.

This wasn't part of the plot. In the book, Dean barely noticed the roommate. She was furniture. But here, he was laser-focused on me. My presence, my lies, my background-everything about me had caught his attention. And that attention felt like a physical weight pressing down on my chest.

The car finally pulled up to the curb outside our dorm. I didn't wait for Dean to open the door. I grabbed the handle, shoved the door open, and practically jumped out onto the sidewalk.

"Goodnight!" I called out, already taking a step toward the building.

"Chloe."

Dean's voice cut through the night air, stopping me dead in my tracks. My body went rigid. I slowly turned around. He had stepped out of the car and was walking toward me. He moved with a predatory grace, his long strides eating up the distance between us in seconds.

He stopped right in front of me. The top of my head barely reached his shoulder. I had to tilt my head back to look at him, which only made me feel smaller and more vulnerable.

"My offer stands," he said, his voice low and serious. "Blackwood isn't just a school. It's a battlefield. And you're walking into it blind. Take care of yourself."

It sounded like a warning. Not a friendly piece of advice, but a statement of fact. He knew something about this place that I didn't. Something dangerous.

Before I could respond, he turned and walked back to the car. He said goodbye to Hannah, and then the sedan purred away, disappearing into the night. I stood on the sidewalk, my legs shaking, the cold wind biting through my thin jacket.

Hannah asked, looking down at her phone. "Did my brother say anything to you?" she asked, frowning. "You look like you've seen a ghost.""Just a little tired," I lied, grabbing my toiletries. "I'm going to shower."

I locked myself in the bathroom and turned on the cold water. I splashed it over my face, gasping at the icy shock. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, my eyes wide with fear. I looked exactly like what I was: a prey animal that had just been cornered by a predator.

I couldn't keep doing this. I couldn't keep letting Dean Gibbs corner me. His interest in me was growing, and if I didn't do something, I would be sucked into his world permanently. I had to cut ties. Completely.

I walked back into the room, my mind made up. I would ignore Hannah's invitations. I would avoid the places Dean frequented. I would become a ghost. A nobody. Just like the original Chloe was supposed to be.

I sat down at my desk, pulling out my phone to set an alarm for the next morning. Just as I unlocked the screen, it lit up on its own. A notification popped up at the top.

I frowned, my thumb hovering over the message from an unknown number. The preview on the lock screen showed a jumble of nonsensical words: "Lamb little hello..." Spam, probably. Some poorly translated phishing attempt. I swiped it away without another thought and tossed the phone onto my bed. I had bigger problems than a random text. I had to figure out how to disappear in plain sight.

I climbed into bed and pulled the covers up to my chin, staring at the ceiling. I had to be strong. I had to stay away from the main characters.

My new strategy was simple: become invisible. If I wasn't in class, I was hiding. And the best place to hide on a college campus was the library.

Not the main floor, where students gathered to socialize and pretend to study. I went deep into the bowels of the building, to the Rare Books Room. It was a dusty, forgotten corner of the library, filled with old encyclopedias and manuscripts that no one ever looked at. The air smelled like old paper and leather. It was quiet. It was safe.

I spent three days there, tucked away in a corner carrel, reading ahead for my classes. I avoided the dining hall, living off granola bars I kept in my backpack. I timed my returns to the dorm so I would only be there when Hannah was asleep.

It was working. I was off the radar. Dean hadn't texted, and Hannah had stopped leaving me notes. I was finally a background character again.

On the fourth day, I was wandering the aisles, stretching my legs. The shelves were tall and cramped, blocking out the light from the overhead fixtures. I was alone. Or so I thought.

My foot kicked something solid. It skittered across the floor with a loud clatter, breaking the absolute silence. I jumped, my hand flying to my chest.

I looked down. Tucked between the bottom shelf and the baseboard was a small, black object. I bent down and picked it up. It was a phone. But not a smartphone. It was a cheap, plastic flip phone. A burner.

I turned it over in my hands, frowning. Who would leave a burner phone in the rare books room? It looked brand new, without a scratch on it. I should have taken it straight to the lost and found. That was the logical thing to do.

But a nagging curiosity itched at the back of my mind. I pressed the power button. The screen lit up, glowing an eerie green in the dim light. The battery was full. There was no contacts list, no call history. The only thing on the phone was a single text message.

The sender was listed as "Unknown."

I stared at the screen. Every instinct told me to put it down, to walk away. But my thumb moved on its own, clicking the center button to open the message.

"Hello, Little Lamb."

The words stared back at me, cold and mocking. Little Lamb. A sick feeling washed over me. This wasn't a lost phone. This was left here for a reason.

My thumb hovered over the power button, ready to turn it off and throw it in the trash. But before I could, the phone vibrated in my hand. Another message popped up.

"I was wondering when you'd find it."

My blood ran cold. The phone nearly slipped from my trembling fingers. This wasn't a prank. This was deliberate. Someone had planted this phone here, in my secret hiding spot, and waited for me to find it.

They knew where I was.

I snapped my head up, scanning the aisles. The shadows between the shelves seemed darker, deeper. The silence was no longer comforting; it was suffocating. I was completely alone, but I felt eyes on the back of my neck.

My first thought was Dean. He had warned me. He had said he would be watching. Was this his way of showing me he could find me anywhere?

A wave of anger cut through my fear. I pressed the button to reply, my fingers shaking. "Who is this?" I typed, hitting send.

The response was instant. Not a text this time. A picture message.

I opened it. The air left my lungs in a sharp gasp.

It was a photo of me. Taken from above. I was looking down at the phone in my hands, my face a mask of shock and confusion. The angle was high, looking down from the ceiling.

I slowly raised my eyes to the ceiling. There, directly above me, was a metal ventilation grate. It was dark, impossible to see inside. But I knew. Someone was up there. Someone was watching me right now.

A scream tore from my throat. I threw the phone as hard as I could. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces. I didn't look back. I ran.

I sprinted down the aisle, my footsteps echoing like gunshots in the quiet room. I burst through the heavy wooden doors and didn't stop until I was outside, in the bright afternoon sun. Students milled around, laughing and talking, completely unaware of the panic consuming me.

I ran all the way back to the dorm. I fumbled with the key, my hands shaking so badly I dropped it twice. Finally, I shoved the door open, threw myself inside, and locked it behind me.

I slid down the door, my back against the wood, and pulled my knees to my chest. I was gasping for air, my lungs burning. The room was empty. Hannah was in class. But the silence didn't feel safe anymore. It felt like a threat.

I looked around the room, my eyes darting from the closet to the space under the beds. Was there a camera in here too? Was I ever truly alone?

I had thought the main plot was the danger. I had thought Dean Gibbs was the monster I had to avoid. I was wrong. There was something else out there. Something hiding in the shadows. And it was hunting me.

I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that photo. Me, looking down, completely unaware of the predator above. I checked the locks on the door three times. I pushed a chair under the handle. I even taped a piece of paper over the small peephole.

When the sun finally came up, I tried to convince myself it was over. I had destroyed the phone. I had left the library. The stalker had lost his toy.

I dragged myself to my morning lecture. I sat in the very back row, my hood up, my head down. I tried to focus on the professor's monotone voice, but my mind was racing.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I nearly jumped out of my seat. I pulled it out slowly, my heart in my throat.

It was a text from an unknown number. Not the burner. My personal phone.

"You look tired today, Little Lamb. Didn't sleep well?"

The room tilted. I gripped the edge of my desk to steady myself. He had my real number. He was watching me right now.

I looked around the lecture hall, my eyes scanning the sea of faces. No one was looking at me. Everyone was focused on their laptops or their phones. He could be any of them.

With shaking fingers, I blocked the number. It was a useless gesture, but it made me feel like I was doing something. I took a deep breath and tried to focus on the lecture.

Two minutes later, my phone buzzed again. A new unknown number. This time, it was a picture.

It was me, sitting in the back of the lecture hall. The photo was taken from outside the building, through the window. My hood was up, my face partially hidden, but it was definitely me.

The caption read: "Blocking me is pointless."

I couldn't breathe. The walls were closing in. I grabbed my backpack and ran out of the hall, ignoring the professor's annoyed glance.

I went straight to the campus police station. I sat in the sterile waiting room for an hour before an officer finally called me into his office. I told him everything. The burner phone, the texts, the photos. I showed him the messages on my phone.

He listened politely, but his expression was dismissive. "Miss Carrillo, college pranks are common. Without a specific threat of violence, there's not much we can do. The numbers are spoofed. We can't trace them."

"But he's following me!" I cried, my voice cracking. "He took a picture of me through a window!"

"Keep your doors locked," the officer said, handing me a pamphlet on campus safety. "If he makes physical contact or threatens you, come back."

I walked out of the station feeling utterly defeated. The police couldn't help me. I was on my own. I didn't even know who my true enemy was. The creep calling me 'Little Lamb'? Or Dean Gibbs, who used the fake name 'Crane' in fancy restaurants and watched me like I was a puzzle he was determined to solve? In this world, it felt like everyone had a secret, and I was trapped in the middle of all of them.

Over the next few days, the harassment escalated. The texts were constant. He knew what I ate for breakfast. He knew what I was wearing. He knew when I left the dorm and when I came back. I changed my number twice. Each time, he found the new one within minutes.

I was living in a fishbowl. Every move I made was monitored. I stopped going to the dining hall. I stopped going to class. I stayed in the dorm, jumping at every shadow.

Hannah noticed. She tried to talk to me, but I shut her out. I couldn't tell her. If I told her, she would tell Dean, and I couldn't deal with him right now. I couldn't deal with his probing questions and his controlling solutions.

But the silence only made things worse. Hannah grew distant, hurt by my rejection. And the stalker grew bolder.

One night, I decided to take a shower. It was late, and the bathroom was empty. I stood under the hot water, trying to wash away the constant feeling of being dirty, of being watched. I let the steam fill the small stall, finally feeling a tiny sliver of relief.

When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I walked back to my room. Hannah was asleep. The room was dark. But my phone screen was glowing on my desk.

I walked over to it, my stomach dropping. A new message.

"The water looks warm. Enjoy your shower."

The towel slipped from my fingers. The floor seemed to vanish beneath my feet. He was watching me in the bathroom. He could see me naked. He was in my most private moments.

A scream ripped from my throat. I grabbed the phone and hurled it at the wall. The screen shattered, the plastic casing cracking. The pieces fell to the floor, but the damage was done.

"Chloe!" Hannah shot up in bed, turning on the lamp. She saw me standing there, dripping wet, shaking, and crying. She saw the broken phone on the floor.

"Chloe, what happened?" she asked, jumping out of bed and rushing over to me.

I collapsed into her arms, the sobs finally breaking free. I couldn't hold it in anymore. I was terrified. I was exhausted. I was completely broken.

"Someone is watching me," I cried into her shoulder. "He's everywhere. He sees everything. I can't escape him."

Hannah held me tight, her arms strong and warm. "Who? Who is watching you?"

"I don't know," I sobbed. "He calls himself... he calls me Little Lamb."

Hannah pulled back, her face hard with anger. "Tell me everything."

And I did. I told her about the library, the texts, the photos, the police. I told her how I had been living in fear for a week, alone and isolated. After saying that, I felt empty inside.

Hannah's eyes were blazing. She grabbed her own phone off the nightstand. "That's it. I'm calling my brother."