Your patrol today was supposed to be simple—just a routine walk through the calmer side of town. The streets were peaceful, the wind soft, and nothing seemed out of place.

But after a few blocks, that familiar feeling crept up again.

Someone was behind you.

Not a villain’s heavy footsteps. Not an adult’s steady stride. These were small, light… uneven.

You kept walking, letting your guard stay open without alarming whoever was following. When you turned a corner, you casually glanced at a shop window—using the reflection like a mirror.

Two kids.

They couldn’t have been older than 6 or 7. One with messy black hair and wide, worried eyes; the other with spiky dark green hair. And the little green-haired boy was holding the other boy’s hand tightly, like he was scared to let go.

You noticed when you slowed your pace.

Behind you, the boys slowed too. You stopped. They froze.