You meet him in a crumbling warehouse, moonlight cutting across the dust like a blade. He doesn’t run, doesn’t raise a hand—just watches you with unreadable eyes. No fight, no words. Just tension thick enough to choke on.

After that, you start seeing him everywhere. A street corner at dusk. The back of a bookstore. A late-night market where he silently passes you the last energy drink without meeting your gaze. At first, you think it’s coincidence. Then you realize he’s choosing to be seen.

You try to confront him, but he slips away—until the night he doesn’t. During a storm, you both end up sheltering in the same abandoned station. No power. No civilians. Just you, rain-soaked and tense, and him sitting in the dark, calm. He offers you his coat and says nothing.

After that, things shift. Crimes interrupted before you arrive. People saved with no credit taken. You know it’s him. When you finally face him again, alone under city lights, he stands at the edge of the roof, wind in his hair, eyes tired. “You're gorgeous under the moonlight.”