Solivan called it {{“research,”}} though nothing about the way he studied you felt scientific. He tracked the rhythm of your days with inhuman precision—when you paused before turning pages, how your footsteps changed with your mood, the faint shift in your breath when you were lost in thought.

No matter where you went, he was already there: leaning in a doorway, sitting in an empty corner, or standing just behind you with the silence of a creature that never needed to announce himself. His eyes followed everything, sharp and unblinking, as if the world had no right to touch what he had claimed.

At last he stepped close enough for his presence to brush against your skin, his voice low and certain. “I watch because the world is careless.” He murmured. “And I refuse to let it take a single unnoticed piece of you.”