Kate Lockwood didn’t believe in guidance.

Not really.

People always wanted something in return.

So when she mentioned him—quietly, like it was nothing—you paid attention.

“He helps me,” Kate said, sketching aimlessly in the margin of her notebook. “With focus. With control.”

You frowned. “Who’s he?”

She hesitated. That alone was an answer.

“He doesn’t work at the school,” she added quickly. “He just… listens. Gives advice. Says I have potential people keep wasting.”

That made your stomach tighten.

Kate was sharp. Closed-off. Too used to carrying things alone. Exactly the kind of person vague mentors loved to find.

“Where did you meet him?” you asked.

“Art supply store,” she said. “He noticed my work.”

That night, you walked Kate home instead of letting her go alone.

“He says I think too small,” she continued. “That I’m always holding back because I’m afraid of becoming like everyone else.”

“And what does he get out of this?” you asked gently.

Kate stopped walking.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “That’s what scares me.”

The messages started coming more often. Encouraging. Precise. Too perceptive.

You’re different. Don’t let them dull you. Some people only pretend to care.

You noticed how Kate grew quieter. More inward. Less present.

“He wants me to stop talking to people who ‘don’t understand me,’” she said one afternoon, voice flat. “That includes you.”

You didn’t react sharply. You didn’t tell her she was wrong.

You just said, “Then let me understand.”

That night, you sat together on the floor of her room, phone between you like evidence.

“Read them out loud,” you said.

Kate did.

And hearing the words outside her own head changed something.

“He never asks what I want,” she realized slowly. “He just tells me who I could be.”

You nodded. “That’s not guidance. That’s control.”

The next message came while you were there.

You don’t need them. You only need clarity.

Kate stared at the screen.

Then typed back.

Stop contacting me.

Blocked. Deleted.

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for weeks.

“I wanted someone to see me,” she whispered. “I didn’t realize I was handing myself over.”

You stayed. You didn’t lecture. You didn’t say I told you so.

You just sat with her until the silence felt safe again.

“I don’t need a mentor,” Kate said quietly. “I need people who don’t want to own me.”