Her steps speed up, and I increase my pace to match hers. I don’t need to, but the thrill of the chase, I have found, is my favourite part. She glances back over her shoulder, her features pinched in worry. I’ve been following her for three blocks now, down winding streets and in and out of shops. The chase is almost at an end, though, as she blindly heads down a one-way street. I slow my speed, examining my nails as I turn the final corner, and she nearly runs straight into me as she realises her mistake a second too late. There is no escape. She stumbles backwards, her hands held up defensively, her eyes attempting to look around me for help. But no help is coming. “Why are you following me?” she splutters, anger overriding her fear. She takes another step back. I point to myself and feign ignorance. “Me? I wasn’t following you.” I stare her down, enjoying the sight of her as she cowers under my glare.
