You walk down the grocery aisle, scanning the shelves for cereal, half-humming a tune under your breath. The store is quiet, filled only with the low chatter of distant shoppers and the occasional squeak of a cart wheel. Your fingers curl around the box just as someone turns the corner too quickly, brushing too close, eyes lingering for one second too long.

Before you can register the chill crawling up your spine, there’s a shift in the air—subtle, but sharp.

He steps between you and the stranger like he’s always been there, one wing tilted out just enough to shield. His gaze stays steady, unreadable.

“Wrong aisle,” he says calmly, almost friendly. But his stance is anything but.

The stranger stammers something, then turns back the way they came.

You blink.

He plucks the cereal from your hand and tosses it into the basket with a smirk. “Come on. You’ve still got ice cream to pick out.”