The occupant is looking down, doing something on his phone and his face is lit up by the screen.

There’s no mistaking it: dark hair, beaky nose, big.

It’s him.

My stomach clenches.

I stop.

I turn.

And I head right back the way I came.

Quickly.

My blood hurls through my veins like a rush hour metro through a tunnel as I head back to the main road thinking, Did he see me? Do they know I was there last night? Do they somehow know what I am writing about?

But then I’ve turned the corner and I’m out of view and the air is thick with danger as I look around me: left then right. I need to get out of here. Quickly. I rush across the main road, weaving through traffic, and as I get to the other side I glance down at my phone: it’s already 7 pm.

There’s only one place I can think of where I might be safe. One place he wouldn’t want to go again.

And so I pull out my phone and text Thomas. Heya, I’m free now. I’ll come over.

It’s just as I head down Rue Vaneau and pass a papeterie that I realise he must have seen me. I glance into the shop window at the brightly coloured cards, a pile of Moleskine notebooks and a golden rabbit beside a rack of vintage pens. Then I focus on the pavement, huddling beneath my umbrella and as I pass a white van I glance at the side mirror. And there he is behind me, following on foot: tall, willowy, with a large black umbrella.

My stomach twists.

I look ahead of me and start to run, splashing through puddles, holding tight onto my handbag so nothing falls out. By the time I turn left onto Rue d’Olivet my lungs are burning from cold air and fear, but I can see Thomas’s building just up ahead on the left. I reach for my phone to call him, to tell him I’m here, and rush towards his door. But just before I get there, I see there’s a message from him.

Hi Harper, I’m not home. Deadline. Tomorrow?

I stop in the middle of the pavement. Pedestrians bump into me, muttering things under their breath as I look behind me.

Shit.

I look up to the third floor: to his dark window.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

But I can feel Mr Tall and Creepy approaching. I can feel it, even though I can’t see him yet. And so I do the only thing I can: I punch Thomas’s door code into the security pad. The four corners of a square.

Bzzzz.

I push the door open and, the moment before I go inside, I look back towards the corner and see him. I was right.

He’s coming.

I quickly pull the door closed behind me.