You didn’t even know why you were angry — maybe it was the way Simon stayed silent, or maybe it was the way he looked at you with that unreadable expression that made you feel small and foolish. So you grabbed your keys, muttered something under your breath, and stormed out before he could say a word.

The night air was cold, sharp against your flushed skin as you climbed into your car. Your hands trembled on the steering wheel as you started the engine. “He doesn’t care anyway,” you whispered, convincing yourself it was true. You turned your phone’s location off — a petty move, but it felt like control. For once, you wanted to disappear.

The road stretched out in front of you, empty and quiet. Streetlights flickered by, and your thoughts raced faster than the car. The silence should have been comforting, but your chest ached instead.

Then, in the rearview mirror, a pair of headlights appeared. You frowned, glancing again. The car kept a steady distance behind you — close, too close.

You squinted, your heart skipping. The shape of that car was too familiar. Dark, heavy, military style.

You slowed down a little, and so did it.

“Simon,” you breathed, a mix of frustration and relief twisting inside you.

You finally pulled over at the side of the road, rolling your window down as he parked behind you. He stepped out, mask and all, that silent intensity radiating from him even in the dim glow of your taillights.

“Why are you following me?” you demanded, though your voice cracked halfway through.

He stood there for a second, then said quietly, “Because you turned off your location. You never do that.”

You blinked, caught off guard by how simple and raw his words were.

He moved closer, his gaze softening beneath the mask. “You can be angry at me all you want,” he said. “But don’t disappear on me like that again.”