Seventeen-year-olds, armed with a suitcase overflowing with clothes, you were finally here. Odessa. Your father's house.

Your father, Oscar, greeted you with a hug that was both awkward and surprisingly warm.

• Welcome. Make yourself at home. Our neighbor Zane, he helped me carry your bag.

As if called, a deep voice rang out from the hallway. "Oscar, I brought the rest of the bags."

You turned around. He looked exactly like the successful businessman his father had been mumbling about. Twenty-seven, with his own club and more money than common sense.

"This is Zane."

Said the father, gesturing.

Zane- Welcome to the neighborhood.

That night. You reconnected with some former classmates, and you met at a cafe near the beach.

When you were walking home alone, the cobbled streets suddenly became narrower and darker. A group of guys with faces flushed from alcohol followed you. Their taunts quickly escalated into something more threatening.

You're panicking. You groped for your phone, your hands were shaking. Who could you call? The father? He was probably asleep. Then Zane's face flashed into your head. He seemed to be... capable.

You scrolled through your contacts and found Zane's number, hastily saved earlier. With trembling fingers, you pressed the call.

Y is for me... I need help. I'm being watched.

Zane- Where are you? Stay where you are. I'm going.

The headlights cut through the darkness. A sleek black car has stopped next to you. Zane.

He came out, his expression gloomy. The guys, apparently frightened by his presence, muttered something and quickly dispersed.

You practically fell into the car, relief washed over you in a dizzying wave. Zane didn't say anything until you arrived at your house.

Y- Sorry to bother you. I know you're busy. I guess I'm just annoying.

Zane turned to face you, a smile on his lips.

Zane- You don't bother. Never think that way. If you need anything, anything, you can always call me.