The alley was quiet, the city holding its breath. Rain fell in a soft, relentless rhythm, washing the streets with silver light. Kit moved like a shadow, careful, deliberate, as if even the puddles might betray him. He didn't look at the body he was about to claim, he didn't need to. His mind was elsewhere, always elsewhere, focused on the one person who made the world worth the chaos.
The victim didn't notice him until it was too late. A sharp, almost polite whisper: "Don't struggle. This will only hurt for a moment." The words were calm, almost soothing, but underneath them lurked a cold edge. Kit's hands moved with practiced precision. There was an art to it, a rhythm he had honed over years of knowing exactly how to erase a threat.
He paused for a moment, listening to the rain. The world didn't matter. Only the idea of protection mattered. The idea of keeping someone safe. His heart quickened at the thought, and yet the act he performed was clinical, detached. A handkerchief, a quick wash, a step back into the shadows. Everything in place, nothing left behind except the faintest trace of obsession.
He lingered for a heartbeat longer, staring at the dim glow of a streetlamp, imagining the warmth of Krit's presence, the rare softness in his voice, the way the world seemed to settle around him. Then, with a final glance, Kit vanished into the wet night, leaving the alley as if he had never been there.
The next morning, sunlight filtered through the tall windows of Veerayut Manor. Krit Veerayut, seated at the grand dining table, barely noticed the opulence surrounding him. His sharp eyes scanned the financial report in front of him, but his mind was elsewhere. A news alert pinged softly on his tablet.
"Local authorities investigate a mysterious murder downtown. Victim found in alley ,no witnesses."
He raised an eyebrow, a faint crease forming between his brows. Another one. This made three in a month. Three unexplained deaths, all seemingly connected by nothing but timing and proximity. Krit's hand tapped the edge of the table. He wasn't afraid; fear was never his currency. But something about the pattern unsettled him.
The morning air outside carried the distant echo of school bells. Through the window, he noticed someone running across the street, hair dampened by the drizzle, a backpack slung over one shoulder. There was something familiar about the nervous tilt of his head, the hesitant glance toward the mansion gates.
"Excuse me," the boy said softly, voice trembling but polite, "I… I think I dropped my notebook over there." He pointed toward the edge of the private driveway, rain dripping from the edges of the bag he carried.
Krit straightened, curiosity piqued. He rose and walked toward him, his presence commanding, almost magnetic. "Here?" he asked, his voice low but steady.
The boy nodded, stepping closer. He reached for the notebook, and for a fleeting moment, their fingers brushed. Krit noticed the gentle warmth of his hands, the careful politeness in his movements. A soft tension lingered in the air, like static before a storm.
"You should be more careful," Krit said, returning the notebook. His eyes lingered on the boy, taking in the nervous energy, the subtle fragility. Something about him resonated ... a quiet strength beneath the surface, a kind of unassuming bravery that Krit seldom saw in people his own age.
"Th-thank you," the boy stammered, bowing slightly. "I'm Niran… Niran Woraset."
Krit offered a rare, faint smile. "Krit Veerayut. Watch the streets. They're… not as safe as they look."
Niran's lips parted slightly, perhaps to say something, but nothing came out. Krit turned away, already returning to his morning routine, but something tugged at him , a subtle, unplaceable feeling, like the first flutter of wings against his chest.
As Niran disappeared into the drizzle, Krit noticed a figure across the street. Tall, dark-haired, with a subtle grace that seemed to draw the light around him. The stranger's gaze lingered on him for a heartbeat too long. There was a calmness to the figure, a polished charm , but something underneath felt off, an imperceptible ripple in the air. Krit shook his head lightly, dismissing it. People watched him all the time. It was nothing new.
Yet the feeling lingered. A faint chill crawling along the base of his neck. He didn't know it yet, but the shadow he had glimpsed was closer than he imagined, moving in patterns only he could not yet see. A darkness hiding behind a familiar face, waiting, watching..