"All right. In case of any emergency, we'll activate your GPS and monitor your movement for the next several weeks," the officer says with steady professionalism, but there's a note of kindness in his eyes. "You've been through a lot. Please, take care of yourself."
"Thank you, sir."
The officers retreat to their cars. The night is calm again, but it's the kind of calm that comes after the storm—everything is still damp with fear, with relief, with questions left unanswered. The fading swirl of red and blue lights seem to wash over the parking lot like a passing tide, carrying the weight of chaos away.
Grace stands there for a moment, unmoving, as if trying to decide whether she's truly safe now.
Harry steps beside her, the warmth of his presence grounding her.
"So," he begins, voice light but heartened, "it's all settled for now. At least officially. From tomorrow, I'm coming to pick you up every morning. Non-negotiable."
Grace lets out a breath of laughter—thin but real.
"Harry, you don't have to. I can drive myself. My family—"
"Nope," he interrupts with mock sternness. "What if that freak is lurking near the parking lot again? I'm coming to your doorstep, ringing your bell, and escorting you all the way to the car."
She laughs again, more freely this time. But her smile fades slowly as she glances around the lot. Her eyes scan the shadows, the corners, the quiet stairwell leading out from the basement.
"Where's Professor Julian?" she asks quietly, though she's almost afraid of the answer.
Harry's gaze follows hers, then drops.
"He left. Not too long ago. Maybe ten minutes."
"Oh…"
Just one word—but it carries the weight of everything she didn't get to say.
He's gone. Already. No goodbye. No chance to look him in the eye. No thank you.
Something clenches inside her chest—not panic, not dread, but something softer and deeper. A kind of ache. Not born of fear, but of a heart moved in a way it hadn't expected.
He came. Julian came. He found the stalker. He led Harry here.
She turns her face toward the breeze that drifts gently through the parking lot, brushing past her cheeks like a whisper. The leaves swirl at her feet—faint rustling like the echo of footsteps now gone.
"Julian… if he didn't get the stalker's information and send it over, I wouldn't have realized the guy lived in your building," Harry says, almost to himself. "Would've taken too long to piece it together."
Grace says nothing, still watching the space where Julian had been. The space where his presence had lingered for just a moment—and now left behind something like a ghost.
It's different now, she realizes. The quiet, guarded affection she held for Julian has evolved into something else entirely. It has grown without her noticing, unfolding like a hidden bloom. And now, it's too big to hide. Too sincere to ignore.
It's love.
Her breath catches.
She turns back to Harry, her eyes a little watery, her expression a mixture of exhaustion and gratitude.
"Harry," she says softly.
He turns toward her instantly.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you for coming tonight. When I heard your voice…" Her words falter. "When I saw you… I felt like—like God sent you to save me."
Harry's face softens, and for a second, there's nothing but silence between them.
Then he smiles—a small, sincere smile full of care.
"Well," he says, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm honored to be the guy God picked tonight."
Grace nods, her lips tugging into a faint smile.
"I think I need to go home and rest now," she murmurs.
"Of course," Harry says, stepping back a little. "You should. You've been through enough."
"You'll head home too?"
"Yeah," he replies with a gentle shrug. "You go get some real rest. I'll be fine."
Grace lingers a moment longer, her gaze lingering on him, warm and full of quiet appreciation. Then she nods.
"Good bye, Harry."
"Good bye, Grace."
She turns toward her car under the scattered stars. The cool air slips under her coat, but the chill doesn't reach the fire still glowing somewhere in her heart.
She doesn't know what Julian is doing now, where exactly he's gone—but part of her wishes he had stayed. Part of her wonders if she could have stopped him—just long enough to say what needed to be said.
But for now, she walks toward home.
Toward rest.
Toward something new that she doesn't fully understand yet, but knows she will not run away from.
Not anymore.
Grace is back in her cozy apartment living room. The familiar scent of lavender from the oil diffuser still lingers in the air, comforting and warm. Outside the window, sunlight slants in at a lazier angle now—almost 3 p.m.
She stands in front of the window, phone in hand, staring blankly at the time. Her breath catches. Her heart pounds in a strange, heavy rhythm that makes her chest ache. She swallows hard.
I just want to do it now, she thinks. What's the point of hiding anymore?
Her thumb hovers over the screen. The number—his number—is already memorized, etched into her like second nature. She scrolls to it, presses it. One more click and she could be hearing his voice.
But just before she taps the Call button, she pauses.
A small smile tugs at the corners of her lips. She's ready. Not the trembling kind of ready, but the calm, steady kind—the kind you feel when the storm has already passed through you and left only silence.
And yet... she hesitates again.
He's probably in his office right now. Working. I shouldn't interrupt him, she reasons. Better to text.
She erases the number, opens a new message, and types.
Her fingers freeze.
No… not "Professor."
She backspaces quickly, her lips pressed into a line. That title feels too formal now—too distant.
She starts again.
Without letting herself think any further, she hits Send. There. It's done. No more back-and-forth in her head.
She exhales and drops onto the sofa, curling up as the soft cushions embrace her. Her eyes flutter shut.
The events of the morning replay in fragments—sharp edges softened now by the quiet of her apartment. It all feels like a half-formed dream. Or maybe a nightmare. Surreal, disconnected, as if it had happened to someone else entirely.
Then—her phone vibrates.
Her eyes snap open.
She reaches for it instinctively, already knowing who it is.
A message from Julian.
A quiet smile forms on her lips.
Okay, she thinks. So that means I'll call him at six.
Her pulse quickens, nerves fluttering in her stomach. She's scared—yes. But more than fear, there's this undeniable pull rising inside her. Something that's been waiting far too long to be said.
She types
Then she places the phone down, the screen darkening beside her.
Julian walks quietly down the hallway toward his office, the faint echo of his footsteps bouncing off the marble floor. In his hand, his phone is still lit with the text message he just sent.
As he lowers the phone, another message flashes onto the screen. It's from Grace.
A soft smile tugs at the corners of his lips—one he can't suppress, no matter how tired he is.
He slips the phone into his coat pocket and opens the door to his office. The warm air greets him like a gentle sigh. Books line the shelves like quiet sentinels. The window lets in slanted afternoon light, catching the dust in lazy spirals. It's a small, well-worn space—cozy, a little cluttered, but deeply his.
Julian crosses the room and sinks onto the sofa, exhaling as his body folds into the cushions. Fatigue hits him harder than expected. The day—no, the entire morning—has drained something from him.
He knows he should be preparing lectures for next week. The outlines are due. The coursework isn't going to build itself. But for now, he leans his head back and closes his eyes.
He's exhausted—not just in the way that comes from physical effort, but from the emotional storm that has yet to pass.
And still, there's that smile.
The moment Grace asked when she could call him, that was when it started. From the second he saw her message, something in him lifted. Something warm. Hopeful.
But it hadn't been that simple just hours ago.
He remembers rushing down to the basement of her apartment building, heart pounding like a war drum. He hadn't even taken time to think—just moved, needing to see for himself that she was safe. And there she was.
Grace.
In Harry's arms.
Tears falling from her eyes.
That image had cut through him like glass.