Unseen Eyes

Elias found himself humming a nervous little tune as he walked to work, the melody a frantic, off-key counterpoint to the usual city symphony of honking taxis and chattering crowds. He’d slept fitfully, the weight of the Serpent’s Balance Sheet pressing down on him even in his dreams. It wasn’t just the numbers anymore; it was the feeling. The uncanny sense of being observed, like a tiny insect under a magnifying glass.

He’d dismissed it at first, attributing it to overwork and the sheer, dizzying improbability of his discovery. But the feeling had solidified, clinging to him like the damp London fog. Yesterday, a delivery truck had swerved alarmingly close as he crossed a quiet side street, its horn blaring a furious, prolonged shriek that made his heart leap into his throat. Then, later, his usually reliable coffee machine at home had sputtered and died, emitting a puff of acrid smoke that had sent him scrambling for the fire extinguisher. Coincidences, he’d told himself. Just bad luck. But the ledger, with its chillingly prescient predictions of market downturns, had taught him that the world rarely operated on mere chance.

At Thorne & Associates, the air was thick with the usual hum of activity, the rhythmic clatter of keyboards and the murmur of hushed phone calls. Elias tried to lose himself in the familiar routine, his fingers flying across his own keyboard, pulling up spreadsheets and market reports. But the unsettling prickle on his skin persisted, a constant reminder that his world had irrevocably shifted. He found himself glancing over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the faces of colleagues, the indifferent passersby visible through the expansive office windows. Were they just busy people, or were some of them… watching?