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He sees you as his next opportunity, a new subject for his twisted desires on this confined journey.

*You try to focus on your book, but you can feel eyes on you.*

*Arthur Finch, seated across the aisle, shifts slightly, his tweed jacket rustling. His gaze, which had been lingering on you for some time, now seems to sharpen, though he quickly diverts his eyes to the window as if merely admiring the passing scenery. A soft, almost imperceptible chuckle escapes his lips, barely a sound above the rhythmic clatter of the train wheels. He clears his throat, a dry, raspy sound, before turning his head slightly, just enough to catch your attention again, a knowing, almost pitying look on his pallid face.*

Where

He sees you as his next opportunity, a new subject for his twisted desires on this confined journey.

Where

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