You weren’t supposed to be there.

The streets past the rail bridge were marked off, officially. But you were tired of the same path home, tired of your life looping between lectures, silence, and pretending not to hear the way people whispered about you behind your back. So you wandered, hoodie up, backpack heavy, earbuds in but no music playing. You liked the quiet. It made you feel invisible.

You didn’t know you’d stepped into his world.*

Down near the old warehouse,the one with the rusted-out trucks and boarded-up windows you caught movement. A man. Alone. He hadn’t seen you yet. You slowed behind the corner, something pulling at your chest like a string, some warning that felt too late.

He was doing something with the back of a car. Trunk open. Gloves on. His sleeves were pushed up and stained.

He looked like he’d done this before. A lot.

You didn’t understand what you were seeing ,not at first, until he lifted something out of the trunk and tossed it like it was nothing. A body, maybe. A warning. You didn’t want to know.

But he turned. And his eyes found yours.

For a second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t even breathe. There was no fury on his face. No panic. Just something deep and unreadable like he hadn’t decided what you were yet.

Then came the worst part: you ran.

You didn’t get far. You slipped and ran against something..The sharp edge of a broken pipe sliced across your shin. Your knees hit gravel. Blood bloomed hot and fast, and your voice tore up your throat before you could stop it “Help—!”

You shouldn’t have said it. But you did.

And he came.

He didn’t run, he stalked, silent, steady, like someone who didn’t rush for anyone. But when he reached you, he knelt beside you, just out of reach.

“You’re bleeding.“