Jason noticed the mark three days after meeting Milo.

  He stood in his apartment hallway, keys in one hand - mail in the other, staring at his door.

  There was something on the doorframe.

  Small. Barely visible. A faint mark, like someone had traced a finger through dust. But the pattern was too deliberate to be accidental.

  A sigil.

  Jason's heart hammered in his chest.

  RAE?

  I see it. That's a resonance marker. Passive. Likely used for tracking or identification. Someone has marked your door.

  Who?

  Unknown. But it's recent. Within the last few hours.

  Jason looked up and down the hallway. Empty. The usual sounds: Mrs. Amari's TV through her door, the couple upstairs moving around, the building's pipes groaning.

  Normal. Everything looked normal.

  Except for this mark on his door that shouldn't be there.

  He unlocked the door quickly, stepped inside, and locked it behind him. His hands were shaking.

  Can you tell what it does?

  It's a passive identifier. Someone placed it to mark your location. Likely so they can monitor comings and goings. Or find you again easily.

  Can you remove it? Jason asked, entering his apartment.

  I could try. But that would alert whoever placed it that you noticed. Better to leave it for now and be aware of its presence.

  Jason slid down the closed door until he was sitting on the floor, his knees drawn up. "They know where I live."

  Yes.

  "What do I do?"

  You stay calm. You continue as normal. But you take precautions. Don't bring sensitive materials here. Don't discuss plans within these walls. Assume you're being watched.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  Jason's throat tightened. His safe space - his home - wasn't safe anymore.

  "I hate this," he whispered.

  I know. I'm sorry.

  They sat in silence for a long moment.

  Then, a knock at the door made Jason jump.

  "Jason? You in there?"

  Mrs. Amari's voice. Warm. Normal. Concerned.

  Jason stood, took a breath, and opened the door. "Hi, Mrs. Amari."

  She stood in the hallway, holding a covered plate. "I made too much again. Thought you might like some dinner."

  Her eyes flicked to the doorframe - so quick Jason almost missed it. Then back to his face.

  "Everything alright?" she asked. "You look pale."

  "Just tired. Long day at work."

  "Mm." She handed him the plate. "Well, eat something. You're too thin."

  "Thank you. Really."

  She patted his arm, her touch brief and warm. "Take care of yourself, Jason. The world's weird enough without letting it make you sick."

  Something in her tone made him look at her more carefully. But her expression was just kind. Grandmotherly. Normal.

  "I will," he said.

  She nodded and turned to go back to her apartment.

  Jason watched her walk away, then closed his door.

  That was odd, RAE observed.

  What do you mean?

  She looked at the mark. Deliberately. As if she knew it was there.

  Jason's stomach dropped. "You think she...?"

  I don't know. But coincidences are rare. Be cautious around her.

  Jason set the plate on his small table, suddenly not hungry at all.

  Mrs. Amari. Friendly, normal Mrs. Amari who'd lived in this building for years. Who always had extra food. Who asked gentle questions and never pushed.

  Was she watching him? Reporting on him?

  Or was he just paranoid?

  I don't know who to trust anymore, he thought.

  Trust yourself, RAE said firmly. Trust Milo and Lina - they've earned it. Everyone else, remain cautious until they prove themselves.

  Jason nodded. That was good advice.

  But it didn't make him feel any less alone.

  Later that night, Jason sat on his couch, the plate of Mrs. Amari's food untouched beside him.

  You should eat, RAE prompted.

  "What if it's tampered with?"

  Unlikely. But I can scan it for resonance disturbances if that would ease your mind.

  "Please."

  A pause. It's clean. Just food. She was being kind.

  Jason picked up the fork, took a bite. It was good. Really good. The kind of home cooking that reminded you of being cared for.

  He ate mechanically, not really tasting it, his mind elsewhere.

  The mark on his door. Mrs. Amari's glance at it. The toaster incident. The foreign resonance signature RAE had detected.

  Someone was watching. Someone with resources. Someone who knew what to look for.

  Not random. Not coincidence.

  Organized.

  This is what they do, isn't it? he thought. Whoever's tracking me. They make you doubt everyone. Make you paranoid. Isolate you.

  Yes. Isolation is a common tactic. It makes targets easier to control or contain.

  I won't let them do that to me.

  Good. Hold onto that.

  Jason finished the food, washed the plate, and stood at his sink for a long time, looking at his reflection in the darkened window.

  He looked tired. Scared. Older than twenty-seven.

  But he also looked determined.

  They could mark his door. Could watch him. Could send messages and warnings.

  But they couldn't make him give up.

  Not yet.

  Not while there were still answers to find.

  He turned off the lights and went to bed, leaving the cleaned plate by his door to return to Mrs. Amari in the morning.

  Maybe she was just being kind.

  Maybe she was something else.

  Either way, Jason had made his choice.

  He was in this now. For better or worse.

  And he'd see it through.