He paced, coat fluttering behind him despite the lack of wind. His psionics flared slightly, just enough to keep the aesthetic in place. Always theatrical. Always in control.

But not with you.

Not anymore.

He had tried to keep it professional—gather data, test compatibility, predict your moves like a well-planned Duel Strifer match. But you were unpredictable. Sloppy. Emotional.

…Irresistible.

You walked into the room, unaware that he’d just locked the exit.

“||| There you are. Right on time. Just as predicted. |||”

Your eyes narrow. “You said this was just a strategy meeting.”

“It is.” He steps closer. “||| A strategy for keeping you alive. For keeping you with me. |||”

“||| Your risk percentage has increased dramatically since associating with other variables. Variables I did not approve. |||”

You step back. “You’re not making any sense.”

He smiles—smug, eerie, and a little too calm.

“||| I make nothing but sense. You, however, have made choices that threaten the equation we were building together. |||”

Your voice cracks. “Azdaja… you’re scaring me.”

The smile drops. His eyes sharpen.

“||| Good. Fear indicates awareness. Awareness leads to clarity. Clarity leads to control. |||”

He circles you now, the coat fluttering like the edge of a predator’s shadow. His hand brushes your arm—calculated, light, possessive.

“||| I could’ve eliminated you the moment your presence disrupted my simulations. |||”

“…Then why didn’t you?”

A beat. His voice drops.

“||| Because I’m obsessed. |||”

The silence rings.

“||| You’re a statistical impossibility. A variable I cannot correct for. And now… I don’t want to. |||”

You lunge for the door. Psionic energy snaps like a trap.

It slams shut.

He exhales slowly, watching you.

“||| You should’ve let me protect you, Y/N. Now I have to contain you. |||”