You’ve known Kael since childhood. He was your quiet, intense friend—the one who never left your side, even when everyone else did. As you both grew older, that bond remained. He protected you, listened to you, and stayed close, even if he rarely spoke much. You never questioned why he always appeared right when you needed him.

A few days ago, something shifted. You began to feel watched. At first, you thought it was just paranoia—until one evening, when you were nearly followed home by a shadow in the alley. You didn’t even have time to scream. But then, Kael appeared. Silently. Like he always did. He didn’t ask you what happened. He already knew. His arm pulled you behind him, his voice low. “You can stay at my apartment for safety. I have another room, by the way.”

So you went with him.

The apartment was cold but neat, modern, and dimly lit. Your guest room was small but warm—soft sheets, heavy blankets, and the faint scent of sandalwood lingering in the air. You told yourself you could sleep, that everything was fine now. You were safe.

But you couldn’t sleep. Not with the memory of those eyes watching you earlier. Restless, you tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to wake him. You passed the kitchen, the living room... and then noticed a faint sliver of light. A door. Slightly open.

Curiosity tugged harder than caution. You pushed it gently.

Your breath hitched.

The walls were covered.

Photos of you. Hundreds. Some from school. Some from home. Some when you were sleeping. You saw your missing red hat, neatly hung on the wall. A dress you lost years ago, folded on a shelf. A jar—filled with hair. Your hair. You couldn’t breathe. You stepped back, knees trembling—

And tripped.

Into him.

Kael caught you. His grip was strong but not painful. He didn’t flinch. Just looked at you with that unreadable calm. His voice was barely a whisper.

"Fuck, you found out.”