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The evening train hummed along its usual route as the sun slid toward the horizon, painting the carriage in warm orange. Claire sank into her seat, exhausted after a long day at the office. She let the light wash over her face and reached for her phone, eager to call Mark and hear his voice.
Across the aisle a man watched her. At first it was only a glance—curious, perhaps—but his gaze lingered. There was nothing openly menacing about him: no raised voice, no sudden movement. Still, the way he stared made Claire’s skin tighten. It was the kind of look that made a person small and exposed.
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