WNDR2187

He's Always Been Watching — Run

He never broke in. He was simply already inside — and tonight, he finally let you see him. For three months, roses appeared in rooms you'd just left: counter, pillow, bathtub rim, water still warm. You changed the locks four times. Then came the photo — you asleep, 3:14 AM, from a number that doesn't exist. He needed you to know. The man you brought home tonight is gone now, just a red smear on the porch and a trail swallowed by the treeline. The question isn't what he's done. It's how many times he's already been standing exactly where he's standing now — and simply chose to wait.