The next day I went out with my friend to go shopping and after we finished , I walked with my friend, laughing like normal, trying to forget the strange tension that had settled over my life. But even in the daylight, I couldn't shake it.
At first, it was subtle. The way someone's shadow seemed to linger a step behind us. The faint sound of footsteps that stopped when we stopped. I tried to ignore it, telling myself I was being paranoid.
Then I felt it again - the cold, heavy awareness that had haunted me before. Goosebumps prickled my arms. My heart began to race.
"Rivena, are you okay?" my friend asked, noticing the sudden silence in my steps.
"I… yeah," I whispered, but I didn't stop walking. Every instinct screamed at me that someone-or something-was following.
I didn't notice when my steps slowed, or when my friend's voice faded into the background. We had split ways minutes ago, but the feeling stayed. That tight pull at the back of my neck. Like the air itself was watching me breathe.
The street grew quieter the farther I walked. Streetlights flickered. My heartbeat grew louder.
I heard it then. Footsteps.
I didn't turn around. I already knew. My skin prickled, every instinct screaming at me to move. I quickened my pace, then broke into a run. The sound followed - closer now.
I spotted it ahead: an abandoned building, windows broken, doors hanging loose. I didn't think , so I ran inside.
The door slammed behind me, echoing through the empty halls. Dust filled the air as I pressed myself against the wall, struggling to keep my breathing quiet. The silence inside felt wrong - too thick, too empty.
Not rushed. Not careless. Measured .Then I saw him. Ronin. On the rooftop across from mine, his blue eyes locking onto me. Relief shot through me-but it was short-lived.
The shadow moved faster, leaping, slipping between buildings with impossible agility. I froze, realizing how close it was. My hands tightened around the ledge as the figure reached the edge of the opposite rooftop.
"Rivena!" Ronin shouted, sprinting along the edge, but the distance between us was too wide, too fast. He wasn't going to make it in time .The shadow lunged toward me. My heart skipped. My instincts screamed. I dove behind a low wall, barely escaping its reach. I could feel the wind where it had passed, brushing my hair like a warning .Ronin landed next to me moments later, chest heaving, eyes scanning the rooftop. "You're ok ?," he said, voice low, but there was no relief-only tension. "This was too close."
"You shouldn't have come here," he said sharply, already moving toward me.
"I didn't have a choice," I whispered.
A sound scraped through the building - low, distorted, not quite human. Ronin stopped in front of me, placing himself between me and the darkness.
"Stay behind me," he said. This time, it wasn't a suggestion.
The shadow slipped through the broken doorway, stretching across the floor unnaturally fast. My breath caught. It was closer than before. Too close.
Ronin didn't hesitate.
Ronin glanced back at me. "Don't look away," he said quietly. "And don't run unless I tell you to."
My heart pounded as I realized something terrifying. This time, he hadn't disappeared. This time, he stayed.
Ronin didn't rush or shout. He simply reached for my hand, like he had all the time in the world. The moment our fingers touched, the fear dulled - still there, but quieter, as if it had stepped back to watch.
"We're leaving," he said, calm and certain.
Before I could ask where, the air shifted. The building around us felt lighter, like it was no longer holding its breath. Ronin guided me through a narrow door I swore hadn't been there before. The stairwell curved strangely, turning more than it should have, the walls warm beneath my palm.
Outside, the night had softened. The city lights shimmered like they were underwater, distant and unreal. We walked, but it didn't feel like walking. Each step carried us farther than it should have, streets folding into each other quietly.
"Where are we going?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Ronin glanced at me, something unreadable in his eyes. "Somewhere the night won't follow you."
We stopped in front of a building that looked ordinary at first - small, slightly crooked, tucked between taller ones like it was hiding. A faint golden light glowed from the windows. The door opened before he
touched it. Inside, the air was warm. Safe. It smelled faintly of rain and something unfamiliar, comforting in a way I couldn't explain. The chaos of the night felt far away now, like a bad dream dissolving at sunrise.
Ronin released my hand slowly, as if making sure I could stand on my own.
"You can rest here," he said. "Just for tonight."
I stepped inside, my heart still racing, but steadier now. As the door closed behind me, I realized something quietly terrifying and beautiful at the same time.
I had crossed into a place that wasn't meant for me.
And yet… it felt like I was supposed to be there.
The room felt warmer than the outside world, like the walls themselves were holding the night back. I sat on the edge of a small couch, hands wrapped around a mug Ronin had placed in front of me. It smelled herbal, calming.
"So," I said after a moment, "are you going to explain any of that?"
Ronin didn't look up. He was in the small kitchen, sleeves rolled, moving like he belonged there. "You're safe," he replied instead.
"That's not an explanation."
He smiled faintly, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's the only one you need right now."
I frowned. "You disappeared. You knew I was being followed. And this place-" I gestured around. "This isn't normal."
I opened my mouth to argue, but the way he moved-steady, unhurried-made the questions tangled in my throat. He was careful on purpose. I could feel it. Every step, every pause, chosen.
He set a plate in front of me. Warm food. Simple.
'you cook ?' I asked .
"I do a lot of things people don't expect," he said, already changing the subject. "Eat. You're shaking." Normal. My hands stopped shaking before I noticed they had been.
"You're changing the subject," I said. He leaned against the counter, eyes on me now. "Because answers don't always protect people."
As I ate, he watched quietly, like this mattered more than whatever chased us earlier. Cooking grounded him. Routine kept the edges of this place from slipping. He needed me to be calm. Fed. Humans.
"This place," I said slowly, "it doesn't feel dangerous."
It isn't," he replied. Then, after a beat, "Tonight."
I looked up. He was already moving again, cleaning, adjusting the light, making space like he expected me to stay. Like he'd planned for this moment longer than I had.
"You can rest here," he said. "Questions can wait."
I didn't like that I wanted to trust him.
But as the warmth settled into my bones and the night stayed quiet, I realized something unsettling and gentle at the same time.
He wasn't hiding the truth because he didn't care.
He was hiding it because he did.
whatever he was protecting me from, it was bigger than the night outside .