Page 7 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Hailey helps me into the first piece—an intricate silver collar adorned with black opals and razor-thin chains that drape across my collarbone. It’s heavy and cold against my skin, but it feels right. Like armor.

“You look fierce,” Hailey says, stepping back to admire her handiwork. “Like some kind of warrior queen from another dimension.”

I turn to the full-length mirror and barely recognize myself. My eyes seem darker, my cheekbones sharper. The collar transforms me, bringing out a side of myself I usually keep hidden.

“All right, Chlo,” I whisper to my reflection. “Time to shine.”

The photoshoot flies by in a blur of flashing lights and costume changes. Each piece Hailey puts on me feels like it’s unlocking a different facet of my personality. The moonbeam necklace makes me feel ethereal and mysterious. The rough-hewn cuffs make me feel powerful and untamed.

As we wrap up the final shots, I feel a twinge of regret. I don’t want to take off these pieces and go back to being regular Chloe.

“You know,” Hailey says, as if reading my thoughts, “you could keep that look if you wanted. The world could use a little more Chlo.”

I laugh, but there’s a part of me that’s tempted. “Maybe someday. For now, I think Chloe needs to stay in charge.”

As I change back into my work clothes, I wonder what Tyler or Sloane would think if they saw me dressed like a dark vixen rather than the sweet girl next door. Would they even recognize me? Would they understand this part of me?

I say goodbye to Hailey with a promise to have the edited photos to her by the end of the week. As I step out into the fading afternoon light, it’s like I’m straddling two worlds—the sleek, corporate world of Moth to the Flame Designs, and the raw, creative chaos of independent designers like Hailey.

For now, I need to find a way to balance both. But someday, I think, Chlo might be ready to step into the spotlight.

As I walk toward the subway station, my mind is still reeling from the contrast of my day. The weight of Moth to the Flame’s elegant pieces in my bag seems to pull me in one direction, while the lingering sensation of Hailey’s edgy creations tugs me in another. I’m split, torn between two versions of myself.

The subway car is crowded, and I find myself wedged between a suited businessman and a tattooed artist type. It feels oddly fitting, given my current state of mind. As the train lurches forward, I close my eyes and let the rhythmic rumbling settle my thoughts.

When I finally reach my stop in Manhattan and emerge onto the street, I fish out my phone with one more task for the day while I wait for the next ferry home. I call my landlord to complain about him shoveling my walkway but failing to shovel Mr. Haven’s.

I dial the familiar number, steeling myself for the conversation ahead. My landlord, Mr. Grayson, picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” His gruff voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi, Mr. Grayson. It’s Chloe Hallman from 1004 Brennan,” I say, trying to keep my tone light and friendly. I also am not sure if he’ll remember who I am. It was my parents who were long time tenants of him, and I merely took over the lease—the very expensive lease—when they passed.

“Ah, Chloe. What can I do for you?”

I take a deep breath. “I wanted to talk to you about the snow-shoveling situation. I noticed that you cleared my walkway, which I appreciate, but Mr. Haven’s wasn’t done. I’m a bit concerned about him.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line. “Shoveling?”

“Yes, that’s right. He’s in his eighties, and I worry about him trying to navigate an unshoveled path. He fell and—”

“Look, Chloe, I can’t be responsible for every tenant’s walkway. Nowhere does it say in your lease that I provide snow removal.”

I feel a flicker of annoyance. The Chloe from this morning might have backed down, but I can feel a bit of Chlo’s fire in my veins.

“I understand that, but Mr. Haven is elderly. It’s a safety issue. And since you did mine—”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t provide snow removal. At all.”

I pause, confused. “But... my walkway was cleared. In fact, it’s rarely not cleared. I assumed you had done it.”

Mr. Grayson sighs heavily on the other end of the line. “Listen, kid. I don’t know who cleared your walkway, but it wasn’t me or any of my people. Maybe you’ve got a secret admirer or something.”

Mr. Haven had already said as much, and yet my mind races, trying to make sense of this new information.

“I... I see,” I stammer. “Well, I apologize for the misunderstanding. But is there any chance you could arrange for Mr. Haven’s walkway to be cleared? I’m really worried about him.”

“Not my problem,” Mr. Grayson grunts. “If you’re so concerned, why don’t you do it yourself?”

Before I can respond, he hangs up. I stand there for a moment, phone still pressed to my ear, feeling a mix of frustration and bewilderment.

As I lower my phone, a chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. Who has been shoveling my walkway all this time? And why?

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