Sleep was elusive. Every creak of the house, every rustle of leaves outside my window, sounded like footsteps. My mind replayed Grayson's confession over and over, dissecting his words, his gaze, searching for a hidden meaning I couldn't quite grasp.
The blue roses were a key, I was sure of it. They were a twisted romantic gesture, a way for him to declare his twisted affection without actually facing me. A coward's love letter – or maybe something far more sinister.
The next morning, fatigue clung to me like a second skin. I dragged myself out of bed, the image of Grayson's eyes burned into my mind. He's been watching me for months, maybe even before. And now he is trying to pursue me.
Training at the carnival was a welcome distraction, even with James and his ridiculous antics. The stale smell of popcorn and the discordant carnival music filled the air, a familiar comfort after the unsettling events of the night before. James was waiting for me in the haunted house, his usual charming smile plastered on his face.
"Scarlett, my star pupil!" he exclaimed, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "Ready to scare some more unsuspecting victims?"
"As I'll ever be," I replied, trying to sound enthusiastic.
James seemed to notice my lack of energy. "Hey, you okay? You seem a little…off."
I hesitated, unsure if I should confide in him. James was a good friend and an excellent mentor, he was a people person and everyone adored him. But the subject was too sensitive, too dangerous to spread around. "Just a rough night," I said, brushing it off. "Nightmares."
He raised an eyebrow, unconvinced, but thankfully didn't press the issue. Instead, he launched into a detailed explanation of the mechanics of a new scare tactic he'd devised, involving a hidden trapdoor and a strategically placed fog machine. I forced myself to focus, to immerse myself in the role of the menacing ghost, leaving the unease of Grayson and the blue roses behind, at least for a little while.
As the day wore on, I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. A prickling sensation on the back of my neck, a fleeting glimpse of movement in the shadows. I dismissed it as paranoia, the product of a restless night and an overactive imagination. But the feeling persisted, growing stronger with each passing hour.
That evening, as I walked home, I noticed a familiar figure standing across the street, partially obscured by the darkness. A tall, slender man with a distinctive silhouette. Grayson. He didn't move, didn't acknowledge me, simply stood there, watching.
Fear coiled in my stomach, tightening its grip with each step I took. I quickened my pace, my heart pounding in my chest. When I reached my house, I fumbled with the keys, my hands shaking so violently I almost dropped them.
Finally, I managed to unlock the door and practically dove inside, slamming it shut behind me. I leaned against the door, gasping for breath, my eyes darting around the room, searching for any sign of intrusion.
I went to close my curtains, and that's when I saw it. Another blue rose, lying on my doorstep. This time, there was a small, folded piece of paper attached to the stem.
With trembling hands, I picked it up and unfolded the paper. A single word was scrawled in elegant, precise handwriting: Soon.