She smelled like strawberries.

  It was the first thing he noticed.

  The scent was subtle, clinging to the strands of her dark hair, likely from whatever shampoo she used. It wasn’t overwhelming—not perfume, not artificial.

  It was real.

  It was her.

  The thought curled inside him, slow and lazy, like smoke in his lungs.

  The others he had followed before? They smelled like fear.

  She didn’t.

  Not yet.

  The market was crowded, bustling with the usual late-night stragglers.

  A couple argued near the checkout. A group of teenagers laughed loudly by the soda aisle. An elderly woman fumbled with her coupons.

  It was easy to blend in.

  Easy to watch.

  She had no idea.

  She was right there, within reach, and she didn’t even flinch.

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  He had been watching her since the second crime scene.

  At first, it had been simple curiosity—a reporter with a sharp mind, asking the right questions.

  But then he realized she wasn’t just covering the story.

  She was chasing it.

  Chasing him.

  And that made things interesting.

  So he followed.

  Carefully.

  Never too close, never staying too long in one place.

  Watching.

  Learning.

  And tonight, at the market, he decided to push further.

  She was distracted.

  Her mind was somewhere else, lost in thought, scanning shelves without really seeing them.

  He shadowed her movements, matching her pace effortlessly. Always within reach.

  But never touching.

  Not yet.

  He observed the way she moved—the slight furrow in her brow as she skimmed labels, the idle tapping of her fingers against the cart handle, the way her tongue flicked out briefly to wet her lips when she was concentrating.

  There was something different about her.

  She didn’t carry fear the way most people did.

  She wasn’t careless, but she wasn’t paranoid either.

  She was sharp. Intuitive. Smart.

  But even the smartest prey could be lulled into comfort.

  So he tested her.

  A shift in movement.

  A step closer.

  And then—contact.

  A controlled accident.

  Just enough for her to feel it.

  His arm brushed against hers—warmth, solid, real.

  A moment of hesitation.

  A second where she could have turned, could have seen him.

  But she didn’t.

  She barely looked at him.

  Just an absent nod, a passing moment.

  And then—she was gone.

  He stood there for a second, watching her retreating form, the faintest scent of strawberries still lingering in the air between them.

  She had no idea how close she had been.

  He smiled.

  The game had just begun.