Chapter 10: Surveillance
The Unnoticed Mode activated like slipping into cold water—a gradual submersion into irrelevance that left me functionally invisible but psychologically hollow. By the time I reached the Weathervane, I was background noise, forgettable furniture in human form.
Perfect camouflage for witnessing a potential murder.
Wednesday sat at Tyler's chosen table, posture perfect and expression suggesting she was already bored by whatever performance he'd prepared. The after-hours setting was intimate—dim lighting, closed sign, just two teenagers supposedly discussing local history while supernatural tension crackled between them.
She has no idea what she's sitting across from.
I positioned myself at the corner table that had become my usual surveillance post. To any observer, I was empty space wearing teenager clothes. The psychological cost was immediate—that familiar sensation of importance bleeding away until I questioned whether I existed at all.
Focus. Document. Survive.
Tyler had clearly prepared for this encounter. His body language was carefully calculated: vulnerable but confident, interested but not desperate, charming in ways that probably worked on normie girls who didn't know predators came in attractive packages.
"Thanks for coming," he said, setting down two coffee cups with practiced hospitality. "I know this is kind of weird, meeting after hours."
"Weird is relative." Wednesday's tone could have flash-frozen the coffee. "You mentioned access to historical records that might illuminate recent events."
Historical records. Right.
Tyler's smile was perfect—boyish, slightly nervous, completely fabricated. "Yeah, my dad's got files going back decades. Incident reports, missing persons, patterns that might connect to... recent developments."
Bait. He's using official records as bait.
I watched Tyler's micro-expressions with the focus of someone whose life might depend on reading them correctly. His pupils dilated when Wednesday mentioned monsters. His hands trembled almost imperceptibly when she described crime scenes. Twice, his face twitched like he was suppressing some kind of transformation.
The Hyde wants to come out. He's fighting it.
But the most disturbing thing was how he watched Wednesday—not with romantic interest or even predatory hunger, but with scientific curiosity. Like she was a specimen he was studying for later dissection.
She's not prey. She's an experiment.
Wednesday, for her part, conducted the conversation like an interrogation disguised as social interaction. Every question was precisely calculated to extract maximum information while revealing minimal vulnerability. She was three steps ahead socially, but potentially missing the monster literally across the table from her.
"Tell me about the creature that killed Rowan," she said suddenly. "What does your father's investigation suggest?"
Tyler's reaction was immediate and damning. His nostrils flared slightly, pupils dilated to pinpoints, and for just a moment, something ancient and hungry looked out through his eyes.
There it is. The Hyde recognizing its own work.
"Large predator," Tyler managed, voice carefully controlled. "Claw patterns suggest something... unusual. Dad thinks maybe a bear, but the wounds..." He shuddered with perfectly performed horror. "Nothing natural does that to a person."
Truth and lies in equal measure.
The conversation continued for another twenty minutes—Tyler volunteering information that painted him as helpful and concerned, Wednesday accepting it while clearly cataloguing inconsistencies. It was a masterclass in mutual manipulation, two predators circling each other while pretending to be teenagers on a date.
Then Sheriff Galpin walked in.
My concentration shattered from pure shock. The Unnoticed Mode flickered for perhaps two seconds—not long enough for normal humans to notice, but Tyler Galpin wasn't entirely human anymore.
His gaze snapped directly to my corner table with predator precision. For that brief moment, he saw me clearly despite the power mostly holding, and I stared into eyes that held intelligence far older and hungrier than any teenager should possess.
Shit. Shit shit shit.
I slammed my concentration back into place, forcing myself to become background noise again. Tyler's focus slid away, confusion replacing certainty, but the damage was done. He knew someone had been watching, even if he couldn't consciously remember who.
Time to go. Time to go now.
I slipped out the back door while Sheriff Galpin lectured his son about keeping the shop open after hours. My heart hammered against my ribs as I circled around to intercept Wednesday's route back to campus.
Made myself a target. Again.
But I'd also confirmed what I'd suspected: Tyler was the Hyde, he was specifically interested in Wednesday, and whatever was coming would be worse than anything my fragmented memories had suggested.
Wednesday materialized from the Weathervane fifteen minutes later, moving through Jericho's empty streets with the fluid grace of someone who'd never learned to fear anything. I stepped out of an alley shadow, materializing from darkness in a way that made her hand move instinctively toward whatever weapon she kept concealed.
"Tyler is dangerous," I said without preamble. "Not in the way you think. Something's fundamentally wrong with him."
Wednesday studied me with clinical interest, probably cataloguing the fact that I'd followed her despite her explicit lack of invitation.
"You followed us. Unwise, considering your investment in remaining overlooked."
She noticed my fading tendency. Of course she did.
"The way he looked at you," I continued, not bothering to confirm or deny the surveillance. "He's either obsessed or hunting. Possibly both."
Definitely both.
Wednesday absorbed this information with the same detached curiosity she'd shown throughout our alliance. "Your concern is noted. My investigation continues."
That's it? Your concern is noted?
"He's not what he appears to be," I pressed. "Something about his reactions, his knowledge of the case, the way he—"
"Breathes differently when discussing violence?" Wednesday's smile was razor-thin. "Dilates his pupils when mentioning blood? Shows micro-expressions consistent with predatory excitement?" She paused. "I'm aware."
She saw it too. All of it.
"Then why—"
"Because knowing someone is dangerous and proving it are different challenges entirely." Wednesday began walking toward campus, forcing me to follow. "Tyler Galpin is hiding something. Whether it's involvement in Rowan's death, knowledge of the perpetrator, or simply teenage psychopathy remains to be determined."
It's all three. Plus lycanthropic transformation.
"He's going to hurt you."
"Many people are going to try." Wednesday's voice carried the casual certainty of someone who'd been dodging murder attempts since childhood. "The question is whether he's competent enough to succeed."
He doesn't need competence. He needs moonlight and an appetite for destruction.
But I couldn't explain that without revealing knowledge I shouldn't possess. So I walked beside her in frustrated silence, watching shadows pool deeper than they should have while my mind raced through contingency plans.
She's walking into a trap with her eyes open. Can't warn her properly without exposing transmigrator status. Need to find another way to protect her.
"Your surveillance was noticed," Wednesday said as we reached campus gates. "Tyler knows someone was watching, even if he can't identify who."
Great. Painted a target on myself for nothing.
"I'll be careful."
"See that you are. Dead allies are significantly less useful than living ones."
She disappeared into Ophelia Hall without another word, leaving me alone with the weight of failure and the growing certainty that I was in way over my head.
Eugene waited in our room with hot chocolate and the expression of someone who'd been imagining worst-case scenarios for three hours.
"Did you murder anyone?" he asked.
"No."
"Did Wednesday murder anyone?"
"Also no."
"Then I'm calling it a successful evening." Eugene handed me the steaming mug with deliberate lightness. "How bad was it?"
Tyler's the monster, Wednesday's walking into a trap, and I just revealed myself to something that probably wants to eat me.
"Could have gone better."
Eugene's attempted humor cracked the tension pooling in my chest. For a moment, I almost laughed. Almost.
That night, my shadows refused to settle. They rippled across walls in agitated patterns, responding to proximity with something that recognized them as territorial competition. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Tyler's predatory focus and Wednesday's calculated risk-taking and the absolute certainty that events were accelerating beyond my ability to control them.
Tyler knows something.
I wrote the three words in my notebook and stared at them until they stopped looking like language.
He knows someone was watching. He knows I'm more than I appear. He knows Wednesday is investigating him.
And tomorrow, he starts hunting back.
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