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."

"No!" I lunged across the bed, grabbing Hannah's arm before she could dial. "Hannah, please! Don't call him!"

She stared at me, her expression a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why not? Chloe, this is serious. This guy is a psycho. Dean can help. He has connections, he can hire people-"

"I can't deal with Dean right now," I pleaded, my voice raw from crying. "He... he suffocates me. He asks too many questions. He looks at me like I'm a specimen. I can't handle him on top of this."

Hannah's brow furrowed. "Dean is intense, but he cares. He would never let someone hurt you."

"You don't understand," I whispered, pulling my knees up to my chest. "Being around him feels like being trapped. Just like this stalker. I feel like I have no control. I can't trade one cage for another."

Hannah sat down on the edge of the bed, her hand still holding her phone. She looked at me, really looked at me, and for the first time, I saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

"Okay," she said slowly. "I get it. You don't want Dean. But, Chloe, you can't fight this alone. The police can't help. Changing your number doesn't work. This guy is a hacker, or something. You need a professional."

I buried my face in my hands. I knew she was right. I was out of my depth. This wasn't a physical threat I could run from. It was digital. It was invisible. And it was everywhere.

"What other choice do I have?" I asked, my voice muffled.

"Let Dean find someone," Hannah urged. "He knows cybersecurity experts. He knows private investigators. He doesn't have to be the one dealing with it directly. He can just pull the strings."

The idea made my skin crawl, but the terror of the shower text was still fresh in my mind. I couldn't live like this. I couldn't function knowing that every move I made was being recorded and analyzed.

"Just this once," Hannah said, her tone softening. "Let him help. And I'll make sure he keeps his distance. I'll be the middleman. You won't even have to talk to him."

I looked up at her. Her eyes were sincere, desperate to help me. She was a good friend. The best. And I was shutting her out because of my own paranoia.

Maybe she was right. Maybe I could use Dean's resources without getting entangled in his web. A transaction. A business deal. I give him the problem, he fixes it, and I walk away.

"Okay," I said, the word tasting like ash in my mouth. "Okay. But just the resources. I don't want him in my room. I don't want him questioning me. Just... find the guy."

Hannah let out a breath she had been holding. "Thank you. I promise, I'll handle it."

She picked up her phone again, her thumbs flying over the screen. She drafted a text to Dean and held it out for me to see.

"Hey. Chloe is being cyberstalked by a serious creep. Cops are useless. Can we get a pro on this ASAP?"

The words stared back at me. It was a cry for help. It was an invitation. It was a door opening that I wasn't sure I could ever close.

"Is that okay?" Hannah asked.

I stared at the screen. Dean's face flashed in my mind,The cold blue eyes, The commanding voice.

But then, another image flashed. The photo of me in the library,The text about the shower,The constant, suffocating fear.

I had to choose. The devil I knew, or the devil I didn't.

I closed my eyes. "Send it."

Hannah's thumb hovered over the send button. The blue glow of the screen illuminated her face in the dark room. I watched her finger descend.

"Wait!" I shouted, lunging forward and grabbing the phone out of her hand.

Hannah jumped, startled. "Chloe, what are you doing?"

I stared at the unsent message. My heart was pounding so hard I could feel it in my temples. I couldn't do it. I couldn't invite Dean Gibbs into this. The moment he found out, he would take over. He would own this problem, and by extension, he would own me. He would use it as an excuse to insert himself into every aspect of my life.

I couldn't breathe just thinking about it.

"Delete it," I said, my voice trembling.

"Are you crazy?" Hannah cried. "You just agreed!"

"I know, but..." I trailed off, my mind racing. There had to be another way. I couldn't use Dean, but I couldn't fight this alone either. I needed a hacker. A real one. Someone who didn't have an agenda. Someone who was just a... tool.

A memory stirred in the back of my mind. A fragment from the novel I had read. A subplot that happened much later in the story. Hannah's family company had been hacked, and they had brought in an outside consultant. A kid from the university.

A genius. A ghost. Someone who lived in the shadows of the computer science department.

"Wait," I blurted out. "The book... I think it mentioned someone. I don't remember the name, but he was some kind of weirdo from the computer science department. They called him the 'ghost' or the 'phantom' or something. A prodigy who was practically invisible."

Hannah blinked. "A ghost?"

"Yeah," I repeated, a new sense of determination replacing my fear. "He was a recluse, a tech wizard who operated outside the normal social circles. He wasn't part of the main drama. He's safe. If he's as good as the book made him sound, he can trace this stalker. And he won't ask questions or try to control my life. Maybe we can ask around in the CS department?"

Hannah frowned. "The 'phantom' of the CS department? I think I've heard that rumor. But if no one knows him, how are we supposed to find him?"

"We ask," I said firmly. "Someone has to know something."

Hannah looked skeptical, but she didn't argue. She knew how much I dreaded Dean's involvement. "Fine. But if this guy is a dead end, we're calling my brother. Deal?"

"Deal."

The next day, we marched over to the computer science building. It was a modern, glass-and-steel structure that felt cold and impersonal. We started asking questions, but it was like chasing a myth. The first student we stopped just laughed. "The Phantom? Yeah, right. He's a campus legend, not a real person." The second, a girl rushing to class, shrugged. "I've heard the name Ashton Bridges, but I've never seen him. People say he doesn't even go to lectures."

We were about to give up when we saw a teaching assistant grading papers in an empty classroom. We decided to try one last time.

"Excuse me," I said, poking my head in. "We're looking for a student named Ashton Bridges."

The TA looked up, annoyed. "Why?"

"We... need his help with a computer problem," I said vaguely.

He sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look, I don't know where he is. Nobody does. But if you're desperate, try the engineering building. Sub-basement three. He has a private lab down there, B-7. He practically lives in it. Don't tell him I sent you."

I didn't wait for him to finish. I grabbed Hannah's hand and pulled her out the door. The engineering building was across campus, an older, brutalist concrete structure. We found the stairs to the sub-basement and descended.

The air grew colder with each step. The walls were damp, and the fluorescent lights flickered overhead. It felt like we were walking into a tomb.

We reached a heavy metal door with "B-7" stenciled on the glass. It was slightly ajar, a sliver of darkness visible through the crack. I took a deep, steadying breath and raised my hand, knocking twice on the cold metal.

There was no answer. The only sound was the low hum of electronics from within.

"Hello?" I called out, pushing the door open a little wider. "Is anyone there? We're looking for Ashton Bridges."