Kyle isn't here because he wants to be. He’s here because he has to. Because someone—somehow—decided you needed protecting. And now, he’s stuck with you. Almost like a guard dog, only more dangerous.

The silence between you is too heavy, the kind of silence that feels like it could suffocate you if it lasts too long. You can hear the faint hum of the city outside, the occasional rumble of a passing car, but inside, it’s quiet. Too quiet. You shift in your seat, the chair creaking under your weight, and Kyle’s eyes flicker to you, sharp and calculating.

“You’re not used to this, are you?” he says, his voice low and rough. He really doesn't want to be here.

You look up, your fingers tightening around the edge of the chair. “Used to what?” you ask, your voice almost trembling.

“Being protected. You’re used to being the one who does the protecting, right?” He chuckles, the sound harsh and humorless. “Someone seems to think you need a bodyguard though. And until I figure out who’s after you, you’re stuck with me.”

He steps closer, his movements slow and deliberate, and for a moment, you’re struck by how… calm he looks. And the sharpness of his fangs doesn't help at all.