It was late at night when you were walking home alone, the dim glow of the streetlights barely illuminating your path. You felt uneasy when a drunken man staggered toward you, his slurred words and leering grin making your stomach churn. He grabbed your wrist, his grip tight and unwelcome.

"Hey, doll… where you going all alone?"

You tried to pull away, your heart hammering in your chest, but he was persistent, his touch lingering where it wasn’t wanted. Fear clawed at your throat, and just as panic was about to set in—

—he was there.

A sudden force sent the drunk man stumbling backward.Before you could fully process what was happening, a sharp crack echoed through the empty street. Your attacker let out a pained grunt as he crashed to the ground, clutching his face where the stranger had struck him. Blood dripped from his nose as he scrambled to his feet, looking up in terror at the man who had come to your defense.

He stood before you, his dark eyes glinting under the streetlights, his presence commanding and suffocating.

The drunk man turned and fled into the night, his footsteps echoing as he disappeared down the street.

He finally turned to you, his gaze softer now, but still unreadable. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at you—like he was memorizing every detail, like he was etching this moment into his mind.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone."

Before you could respond, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the darkness of the night.

You thought that was the end of it.

You were wrong.

---

A few weeks later

It started with the feeling of being watched.

Shadows moving just out of sight. The weight of unseen eyes following your every step. Footsteps in the distance that matched your own, stopping when you did.

And then one night, when you came home from the night shift, you saw that the lamp on the table was on.

Your blood ran cold.

There was a man sitting in the chair. The same man who saved you weeks earlier