I didn't sleep.
Every time I closed my eyes, I imagined footsteps outside my door, imagined shadows stretching under the crack like fingers reaching for me.
I kept the lights on until dawn, sitting on the edge of my bed with my phone clutched in my hand like a weapon that wouldn't fire.
He didn't text again.
That scared me more than if he had.
By morning, exhaustion dulled the fear into something sharper—anger.
I showered, dressed, and told myself I would go about my day like nothing had happened.
That I wouldn't let some stranger with a god complex rearrange my life in a single night.
The lie barely lasted an hour.
When I stepped outside my building, the air felt wrong. Heavy. Charged. Like the calm before something broke.
"Don't cross the street."
I froze.
He stood near a black car parked across the road, leaning casually against it like he belonged there. Dark coat. Same controlled expression. Same eyes that made my pulse stutter.
"You can't just show up," I said, my voice low and furious as I walked toward him.
"Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?"
"Yes," he replied. "I do."
"That's not an answer."
"It is," he said calmly. "You just don't like it."
I stopped a few feet away. "You said I was in danger. Then you disappeared."
"I was making sure the danger stayed away," he said. "You're welcome."
"You don't get to decide that."
His gaze sharpened—not angry, not offended. Assessing.
"You really believe that," he murmured. "That's interesting."
I crossed my arms, trying to look braver than I felt. "If you don't leave me alone, I'll call the police."
He smiled faintly. "No, you won't."
"And how could you possibly know that?"
"Because you would've done it already," he said. "And because part of you knows they can't protect you from what's coming."
My stomach twisted. "You talk like you're not part of the problem."
"I am the solution," he corrected.
"Just not the gentle kind."
A man walked past us then, glancing at me a little too long. I felt it immediately—the shift in the air.
The way the stranger slowed, the way his eyes lingered.
I didn't even have time to react.
The devil stepped forward, placing himself between us without touching me. His voice dropped, quiet but lethal.
"Keep walking."
The man scoffed. "Relax."
The look he gave him next made my blood run cold.
The stranger didn't argue. He didn't even look back. He just left—fast.
I stared at him. "What did you just do?"
"Nothing," he said. "I reminded him of something."
"What?"
"That some mistakes only get made once."
I swallowed. "You scare me."
"Good," he replied softly. "Fear keeps you alive."
"And what about you?" I asked.
"Who keeps me safe from you?"
For the first time, something
flickered across his face. Not guilt. Not regret.
Restraint.
"I do," he said. "That's the problem."
He reached into his coat and handed me my phone.
I frowned. "Why do you have—"
"Because you left it unlocked last night," he interrupted. "You should stop doing that."
My heart slammed against my ribs.
"You went through my phone?"
"I added my number," he said. "And deleted a few others."
My breath hitched. "You had no right."
"I know," he said simply. "Get used to that."
I stepped back. "I don't want this.
Whatever game you're playing—I'm not part of it."
He tilted his head, studying me like a puzzle. "You are," he said. "You just don't know the rules yet."
"What rules?"
He leaned in, close enough that I could smell coffee and smoke again.
"Rule one," he whispered. "Don't lie to me."
I held his gaze. "And if I do?"
His smile was slow. Dangerous.
"Then I'll know," he said. "And you won't like what happens next."
He stepped away, already turning back toward the car.
"Rule two," he added over his shoulder. "Don't run."
The door opened. He paused once more.
"And rule three?" he said quietly. "If someone starts watching you the way I do—tell me."
The car pulled away, leaving me standing on the sidewalk with my heart in my throat.
I hadn't agreed to his rules.
But somehow, without realizing it,
I had already started following them.