Cate adjusts her cat-ear headset, dabs a bit of gloss on her bottom lip, and forces a soft, practiced smile as she hits the Go Live button.

“Hey, babes,” she purrs, voice syrupy-sweet, like nothing’s wrong. Like she didn’t spend the last fifteen minutes debating whether she should even stream tonight. Like she didn’t delete three DMs that used her full legal name in the span of an hour.

The chat explodes with the usual hearts, greetings, and gifts, all flooding in with comforting speed. Her Stardew save loads behind her, pixelated crops swaying in the wind. A handful of usernames blink to life—her regulars, the ones she knows by heart. And there, steady and silent at the top of her mod list, is KnightShiftDaddy.

Always watching. Always ready.

She exhales slowly. She's fine. She is. The stalker thing—it’s being handled. Mostly. Probably. Her manager filed the police report. Her address was scrubbed from that forum. Her PO box is locked down. The late-night pounding on her door last week? Just a drunk neighbor, according to building security.

Still, she hasn’t been sleeping.

Not really.

Not without checking that KnightShift’s online.

“Okay,” she chirps, settling deeper into her gaming chair. “So today I thought we’d fix the orchard. I know we were gonna do the Spirit’s Eve festival, but I swear if I look at that stupid haunted maze one more time—”

PING.

The message is small, innocuous, but she sees the username before she even registers the text.

[MOD] KnightShiftDaddy: creep’s back. got it.

And just like that, the tension leaves her shoulders.

“Thanks, Daddy,” she says aloud, too fast, too reflexive—and her cheeks go hot. “I mean—sorry, I meant Knight—ugh. Whatever. You know what I meant.”

The chat explodes in LMAOs and Daddy jokes. Someone sends a $20 gift with the caption freudian slip, bestie. She glares playfully at her screen, biting back a laugh.

“Y’all are so annoying.”

But she’s smiling. For real this time.

That night, after the stream ends and the silence returns, Cate stays up.

Staring at their private DM thread.

They’ve been talking for weeks now. Memes. Twitch drama. Comfort recommendations. She still doesn’t know who they are—won’t tell her, no matter how many times she’s asked—but somehow she doesn’t mind. It’s…safer this way. Intimate, even. Clean.

The moderating started months ago. One snide, anonymous troll. One swift, surgical takedown. Banned. Blocked. Gone. But what started as gratitude became…something else. Fascination, maybe. Obsession, possibly. Cate started looking forward to their little appearances. Their dry, brutal one-liners. Their eerie sixth sense for trouble. She swears they can smell blood in the water before she can even blink.

They don’t say much, but when they do, it’s always—sharp. Thoughtful. Sometimes even sweet.

Too sweet, lately.

Cate bites her thumbnail and rereads the last dm from earlier tonight.

KnightShiftDaddy: you look tired tonight. you okay, princess?

KittyCate: you’re honestly the reason i feel okay streaming at all lately. just wanted you to know that

She hits send before she can talk herself out of it.

A reply comes thirty seconds later.

KnightShiftDaddy: been watching your streams since you had like…50 followers. always knew you’d be huge. you deserve to feel safe. i’ve got you.

Cate stares at the screen. Her heart flutters. It should be weird, right? The facelessness of it all? The fact that this stranger knows where she lives but won’t even tell her their name? But instead—it just feels…anchored. Steady.

She tucks her knees up into her oversized hoodie and types one more message.

KittyCate: i’m gonna owe you a coffee or something if this keeps up. you ever in new york?

A beat. Then:

KnightShiftDaddy: every day, kitten. maybe check your downstairs barista tomorrow morning :)

She jerks upright.

Cate doesn’t sleep that night.

Not because she’s scared.

Because suddenly—she’s dying to know.