The days following their return from Capri had been surprisingly calm.
Iva moved through her routine with a lightness that had been absent for weeks. She attended her classes, completed her assignments, and continued her work identifying fated couples—all without the constant shadow of fear pressing down on her shoulders. The weight that had settled permanently in her chest during the worst of the stalker's campaign had begun to lift, replaced by something that felt almost like normalcy.
The stalker had been silent.
No roses waiting on her desk. No letters slipped beneath her door. No mysterious figures lurking at the edges of her vision. The silence stretched on for days, then a week, then two. Each morning Iva woke expecting to find another yellow flower, another twisted message, anot
