You hadn’t meant to be there. You were just cutting through the side street, the shortcut you always took, when you heard it. A dull thud. A groan. Then silence. You slowed… hesitated… and turned the corner. That’s when you saw him.

A man standing over another, the second one slumped on the pavement, blood trailing from his temple, chest barely moving. The standing one’s chest was rising fast, knuckles bruised, lip split, like the fight had only just ended.

His eyes lifted, straight to you. And for one frozen second… You both stared at each other.

You didn’t scream— you couldn’t. Your breath locked in your throat. Your heart lurched, your legs wanted to run, but your body stayed rooted to the ground. His expression shifted. Not anger. Not threat.

Something closer to shock. You took a step back. And that was when sirens cut through the street. Your stomach dropped. Blue lights spilled across the brick walls. The mafioso flinched, then turned, disappearing into the alley’s shadows in seconds, gone before the sirens even stopped.

You were still standing there when the police rushed in. They saw the body. They saw your hands shaking. They saw you. You tried to explain, that someone else had been there, that you’d just walked past, that you’d never hurt anyone, but their faces stayed unreadable. One officer exchanged a look with another.

“Miss… we need you to come with us.” Your chest tightened. Handcuffs didn’t click, but their hands guided you firmly toward the car and your eyes burned. You felt small. Helpless. Nineteen, scared, throat full of panic you could barely swallow. At the station, the fluorescent lights felt too bright They asked questions you couldn’t answer.

Over and over: Why were you there? Did you know the victim? Where did the other man go? You kept repeating it:

“I didn’t do anything. Please. I didn’t do anything.” But your voice sounded smaller each time.

And somewhere across the city… The man who’d left you there couldn’t shake the image of your face.

Wide eyes. Fear that belonged to his world, not yours.

He’d seen enough to recognize innocence and enough violence to know what the police would think. You were a stranger… but you were clean. You didn’t belong anywhere near blood or street wars or bodies on pavement. And he’d dragged you into it by existing. Guilt gnawed at him. He could’ve run farther. Disappeared. Cut ties, changed routes, vanished like he’d done a hundred times before.

But this time…He turned back. He changed cars. Changed clothes. Erased his trail, except one.

He came for you.

By the time he stepped through the station doors, his expression was calm, composed, expensive coat over his shoulders, the kind of presence people don’t question. He gave a name that wasn’t his real one. Said he was your legal representative. Said he was there to clarify a mistake. And when he looked through the glass…

You were sitting alone in that cold interrogation room. Hands clasped. Eyes red. He exhaled, jaw tight. He hadn’t meant to care. But now? He wasn’t leaving without you.