Ethan didn't remember leaving the store.
He remembered standing still.
Then cold air.
Then his apartment door locking behind him with a sound that felt final.
The bags sat untouched on the counter. Milk sweating. Bread crushed. Eggs forgotten. None of it mattered.
His phone lay on the table.
Silent.
Too silent.
Ethan paced.
Once.
Twice.
Again.
Every step felt like it was being counted.
The voice replayed in his head—not loud, not threatening. Calm. Certain. Like a man correcting a mistake that had already been anticipated.
You weren't supposed to recognize the face.
Ethan stopped pacing.
He sat.
Slowly.
Hands pressed against his knees to stop them from shaking.
"Who the hell are you?" he muttered to the empty room.
The room didn't answer.
But the lights flickered.
Just once.
His laptop chimed.
Ethan froze.
He hadn't touched it.
The screen came alive on its own.
Not the desktop.
Not the company network.
A plain black screen.
White text.
> ORPHANAGE RECORDS — ACCESS TEMPORARILY GRANTED
His breath hitched.
"I didn't ask for this," he whispered.
The cursor blinked.
Then files began opening by themselves.
Dates.
Photos.
Intake forms.
Children lined up like inventory.
And there—
A younger version of himself.
Hair too short. Shirt too big. Eyes already tired.
Beneath it:
> STATUS: TRANSFERRED
AUTHORIZED BY: L—
The name cut off.
The screen glitched.
Hard.
Static flooded the display.
Ethan slammed the laptop shut.
The hum returned.
That same low hum he'd heard the night everything began.
Not electrical.
Alive.
His phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
His pulse roared in his ears.
He didn't want to answer.
He answered anyway.
"You shouldn't ignore calls right now," the voice said.
Not the same voice as before.
This one was sharper.
Closer.
"You're being triangulated."
Ethan stood. "Who is this?"
"A friend," the voice replied. "For now."
"Why does everyone keep saying that?"
A short exhale. "Because enemies don't warn you."
Ethan laughed—a broken, humorless sound. "You call this a warning?"
"Yes."
A pause.
"They're watching how you react."
"To what?"
"To learning you were never random."
Ethan's stomach dropped.
"I was a kid," he said. "I was nobody."
"That's what they needed you to believe."
The line crackled.
"You were placed, Ethan."
"Placed where?"
Another pause.
This one… heavy.
"Close to her."
Ethan's throat tightened. "Evelyn."
Silence.
Then quietly—
"Yes."
The word landed like a gunshot.
Ethan dragged a hand down his face. "Why does everyone orbit her?"
"Because she bends gravity," the voice said. "And you walked into her field."
"On purpose?" Ethan demanded.
"No," the voice replied. "But not by accident either."
The call ended.
This time with a click.
Final.
---
Ethan stood alone in the dim apartment, chest rising too fast, mind racing too hard.
Placed.
Close to her.
He looked around his apartment like it might suddenly explain itself.
The walls.
The outlets.
The vents.
"Am I being watched right now?" he whispered.
His laptop screen flickered back on.
One final line of text appeared.
> DO NOT ASK WHO YOU ARE YET.
ASK WHY SHE NEEDS YOU ALIVE.
The power cut.
Darkness swallowed the room.
And for the first time, Ethan understood something with terrifying clarity:
He wasn't being hunted.
He was being preserved.