Chapter 2
The following days passed in a blur, their usual chaos returning. None of them could have known that their lives were about to change forever in just a few short months. If they had, perhaps they’d have savored the simplicity of it all.
Regulus stretched and went through his to-do list a few mornings later, his eyes catching on the note:
Buy a vase.
He hummed thoughtfully. It seemed like as good a time as any. Dressing quickly, he grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder.
“Evs, I’m heading out,” he called as he passed the couch.
Evan barely looked up from his phone, raising a hand in acknowledgment.
“Don’t get murdered!” Barty shouted from the kitchen.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence!” Regulus shot back, letting the door slam shut behind him.
Regulus stepped out onto the bustling New York street, the usual chaos buzzing around him. The crisp air carried the scent of street food and car exhaust as he pulled his coat tighter and started walking. His mind was still foggy, lingering on the sharp edges of memories he’d tried so hard to bury.
He wandered into a small, cluttered thrift store on the corner of his block. It wasn’t exactly the place for fine home goods, but something about its mismatched charm always put him at ease.
Bells jingled above the door as he entered, and a bored clerk barely looked up from their magazine.
Rows of shelves filled with secondhand trinkets stretched before him. He wasn’t sure what kind of vase he was looking for—something sturdy, maybe, that wouldn’t shatter if his past came back to haunt him again.
His fingers brushed against a variety of odd shapes and materials: ceramic ducks, a glass orb that could’ve been a paperweight, a vase painted with flowers so bright it hurt his eyes.
As he reached for a simple, tall glass vase, he felt someones eyes on him
Regulus froze, the vase in his hand suddenly feeling too heavy. His stomach churned as he looked around.
Regulus swore under his breath, his grip tightening around the vase. He glanced around the store as if the sender could be watching him. The fluorescent lights flickered slightly, casting an uneasy glow over the shelves.
The ... He slammed the vase onto the counter, startling the clerk. “Just this,” he muttered, fumbling with his wallet.
The clerk raised a brow but rang him up without comment. Regulus shoved the vase into his bag and bolted out of the store, his mind racing.
The cold air hit him as soon as he stepped outside, but there was something about the crowd tonight that felt off. Regulus tucked his hands into his coat pockets and started walking, weaving through people and trying to clear his head.
It was maybe ten minutes before he noticed the man.
Tall, probably around 6'3", moving with an unsettling calmness through the crowd. The hood of his jacket was pulled up, casting his face into shadow, but it wasn’t the disguise that unnerved Regulus—it was the deliberate way he walked. Slow, purposeful. He wasn’t blending in with the crowd; he was following.
Regulus’s stomach twisted as he glanced over his shoulder again, trying to confirm it. There he was, a few paces behind, never looking directly at him but always there.
Okay, don’t panic.
Regulus picked up his pace, his docs tapping faster against the pavement. He turned a corner, ducking into a more crowded section of the street, thinking the man might lose him in the throng. But when he glanced back, the hooded figure was still there, his stride unhurried.
Shit.
He made another turn, this time into an alley that led to one of the small parks nearby. It was a risky move—there’d be fewer people around—but Regulus’s instincts screamed to get out of sight.
The alley seemed empty, quiet except for the distant hum of the city. Regulus pressed himself against the wall, peeking back toward the street. No one.
Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he was so on edge about the texts that he’d conjured a stalker out of thin air.
And then he saw him.
The hooded man stepped into the alley, his figure imposing against the dim light of the streetlamps. His hands were shoved casually into his pockets, and while his face was still obscured, Regulus could see enough to know he didn’t recognize him.
Tall. Broad shoulders. The kind of build that suggested he could snap someone in half if he wanted to.
Regulus’s heart raced, and he instinctively took a step back, his foot brushing against a trash can. The clatter echoed through the alley, and the hooded man paused, tilting his head slightly as if he were listening.
For a second, Regulus thought about yelling for help, but his voice felt caught in his throat. Instead, he turned and bolted, sprinting toward the park’s exit.
The sound of footsteps followed—heavy, steady, deliberate.
Regulus didn’t dare look back. He just ran, his mind racing with every worst-case scenario. Who was this guy? What did he want?
By the time he reached the crowded street again, his lungs burned, and his legs felt like jelly. He ducked into a nearby bodega, pushing past shelves of snacks and canned goods, and crouched behind a display of cereal boxes.
He waited, holding his breath, listening for the sound of those footsteps.
Nothing.
When he finally peeked out the door, the hooded man was gone. But the unease lingered, crawling under his skin like a second shadow.
Regulus didn’t go straight home. He took the long way, looping around several blocks and checking over his shoulder every few minutes. By the time he reached his building, he was jittery, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys
That night, Regulus found it harder to sleep than usual. Pandora had taken over the couch, sprawled like some sort of pillow queen, and Barty had passed out on the floor, clutching an empty bag of crisps. Regulus stared at the ceiling in his room, the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the curtains.
The rose sat on his windowsill, its shadow stretching long across the floor.
“More to come, little star.”
The words played on a loop in his mind, nagging at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He wasn’t afraid exactly—more annoyed. What did they mean? Was this someone’s idea of a joke?
He turned onto his side, trying to will himself to sleep, but a noise from outside his window made his heart stop.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
He froze, his breath catching in his throat. The sound was light but deliberate, like someone tapping their nails against the glass. Slowly, he sat up, his pulse pounding in his ears.
The rose was still there, undisturbed. Nothing outside the window looked out of place, but the tapping came again, louder this time.
Gathering his courage, Regulus swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, taking slow, careful steps toward the window. He pushed aside the curtain and peered into the darkness.
Nothing. Just the quiet street below and the faint hum of distant traffic.
He let out a shaky breath, feeling ridiculous for being so jumpy. It was probably a tree branch or something. As he turned back toward his bed, something caught his eye.
A slip of paper.
It was resting on the windowsill, just next to the rose.
Regulus swore under his breath. That wasn’t there before.
He hesitated for a moment before snatching up the note. The paper was the same pale pink as before, but this time the message was different:
You’re not alone.”
A chill ran down his spine. He stared at the words, his fingers gripping the note so tightly it crumpled.
“Reg? You good?”
Barty’s voice startled him, and he spun around to see his friend standing in the doorway, hair messy and eyes half-closed.
“Fine,” Regulus said quickly, shoving the note into his pocket. “Go back to sleep.”
“Was that... tapping?” Barty asked, his voice unusually serious.
Regulus hesitated, then nodded. “Probably just the wind.”
Barty frowned, but didn’t press. “If you say so. Shout if you’re about to get murdered, yeah?”
"Can you take this with you?" Regulus shoved the vase with the rose into Barty’s hands, his tone sharp and impatient.
Barty shrugged as if this were the most normal request in the world and shuffled back down the hall, whistling. Regulus waited until he was out of sight before pulling the note from his pocket again. His hands trembled as he stared at the words.
Something about them felt… personal.