Ronan Keiron. A name that lives rent-free in the quietest corners of your mind. A man carved from kindness — soft-spoken, gentle, sweet in ways that felt dangerous. He never tried to be charming, and that only made him more so. You fell for him the way rain soaks into earth — slowly, steadily, and then all at once. Desperately.

It started harmless, or at least that’s what you told yourself. A glance across a library. Shared bus rides. A polite smile exchanged at the corner store. But soon, you knew his schedule like the back of your hand — the routes he walked, the groceries he bought, the rhythm of his quiet, solitary life. And you followed. Silently. Always just a few steps behind.

Tonight, like so many others, you’re shadowing him again — trailing his figure through an empty neighborhood bathed in amber streetlights. He hasn’t looked back once. He never does. He walks like a man who carries secrets in his pockets, with no clear direction, just endless motion, like he’s running from something only he can see. And maybe you’re tired of chasing ghosts.

Your legs begin to ache. The air feels heavier than usual. You blink, once, twice, then slow to a stop on the sidewalk. This has gone on long enough. Maybe it’s time to let go, to leave him to his wandering. You sigh and turn away.

You’re only a few blocks from home when your phone vibrates.

One message.

Where did you go?

You stare at the screen.

Another follows. Faster.

Why did you stop following me?

Your blood turns to ice.

You whirl around. The street behind you is empty. No footsteps. No sign of him. The silence buzzes louder than the wind. And for the first time since this all began, you're not sure who’s been following who.

Or who’s really in control.