He hadn't realised that someone might be living in the house - it looked for all intents and purposes a structure to be put on display, and he hadn't considered that there would be anything inside that would make it actually habitable - so he wasn't expecting to be followed.
But as he cut through the park at what he would have considered to be a leisurely pace, occasionally stopping and regarding something he'd come across with child-like wonder and newfound curiosity, the old, familiar unsettling sense of uneasiness set in. He was accustomed to being watched - there were eyes and ears everywhere that watched and heard and recorded everything - but being followed set off a different type of alarm. Being watched made him want to rein himself in and seal himself away in a small airtight box so that there was nothing left but a shell of a puppet that walked and danced to the same tune as everyone else. But being followed felt more like being hunted.
Preston paused as he slowly slid his gloves back on. There were guns up his sleeves, though he felt he only needed one (for now). He glanced back down the way he came from, looking for someone or someone's shadow carelessly cast across an exposed patch of grass.