The city streets were quieter than usual that night, the hum of distant traffic barely audible beneath the drizzle. Niran Woraset hurried along his usual route home, his bag slung over one shoulder and his notebook clutched tightly. His thoughts wandered to Krit, to the warmth of his calm, measured voice and the way it had lingered in his mind after their last meeting. A soft ache in his chest reminded him that he had begun to rely on that presence more than he realized.
But the evening was not meant to be calm.
From a shadowed alley across the street, Kit observed every step, calculating, anticipating. His eyes followed Niran as if each detail could be etched permanently into memory the way he walked, the rhythm of his breath, the tilt of his head when startled by a stray car horn. Tonight, Kit would ensure that Niran faced the first real danger just enough to test the pattern, just enough to intervene in time.
.....
A man stumbled out from the corner of the alley, rough hands reaching toward Niran. The boy froze, heart hammering.
"Hey! Stop!" the man barked, moving closer.
Niran's instinct was to run, but the suddenness of the attack paralyzed him for a moment.
Kit's presence, silent and unseen, moved with precision. He nudged a discarded metal rod from a nearby construction site into the man's path. The assailant tripped, falling hard onto the wet pavement with a startled curse. Niran seized the moment to run, heart racing, breath ragged.
From the shadows, Kit followed silently, ensuring no further danger came within reach. The assailant scrambled up angrily, shouting threats, but by the time he realized Niran had escaped, Kit had already disappeared, leaving no trace of interference.
....
Minutes later, Niran arrived at his apartment, slamming the door shut behind him. He leaned against it, chest heaving, eyes wide. The reality of the danger finally sank in.
"What just happened?" he muttered, voice trembling. "How did I…? Why me?"
He didn't notice the faint outline of Kit's figure watching from across the street, hood pulled low, expression unreadable. In Kit's mind, this was validation.
"I protected him," Kit thought. "I was there when it mattered. They will see… they will understand why it had to be me."
....
Meanwhile, Krit paced his study, the latest news of city crime reports juxtaposed against his own observations. Something in the rhythm of the city had shifted. His instincts, honed to perfection, told him that the threat was no longer abstract, it had brushed against someone close, someone fragile.
Pha entered, noticing Krit's furrowed brow. "What's wrong? You look like you're planning the apocalypse."
Krit didn't answer immediately, his eyes scanning the maps on his desk, his thoughts a web of connections, timings, and possibilities. Finally, he said, "Something's happened tonight. The city isn't safe anymore. And someone… someone has been following."
Pha's eyes narrowed. "Following? Are we talking murder-level scary, or just creepy-stalker scary?"
"Closer than either of us suspects," Krit replied evenly.
....
The next morning, Niran arrived at the café, shaken but relieved to be alive. Krit was already there, seated in his usual chair, eyes scanning the city streets below through the window.
"You're safe," Krit said simply, though his gaze was sharp. "But not by coincidence."
Niran blinked, unsure what he meant. "I… I don't understand."
Krit leaned forward, voice low, commanding attention. "Someone has been close to you. Watching. Waiting. Controlling… sometimes without your knowledge. You were fortunate last night. Pay attention. Patterns are emerging."
Niran swallowed, the weight of the words pressing against his chest. "Patterns? Watching? Who… who would do that?"
Krit didn't answer. He didn't need to. The fear in Niran's eyes mirrored the understanding Krit had long been preparing for: that danger was closer than they realized.
....
Across the city, Kit watched from a rooftop, eyes fixed on the café where Niran sat with Krit. He cataloged the scene carefully: Niran safe, Krit observing, Pha unseen but nearby. Satisfaction rippled through his chest, mingling with a possessive pride that only he understood.
"They will see soon… and they will understand why I do this," Kit whispered. The rain began to fall softly again, washing the streets below, blurring lines, shadows, and intentions.
The city had taken its first real test. Niran had survived. But the invisible threads were tightening, and the next move would not be so subtle.