Arielle had stopped telling people she was sick.
Not because she was getting better—but because no one ever believed her.
It was always the same cycle. Hospital visits. Tests. Silence. Then that careful look doctors gave her, the one that said we don't know what's wrong with you, but we're going to pretend we do.
"Stress," one had said.
"Anxiety," another suggested.
One even smiled at her like she was a child and told her to "get more sleep."
Arielle had laughed in his face.
Because stress didn't feel like this.
It didn't start as pain. That was the strange part. It started as… pressure. Like something inside her chest tightening slowly, carefully, as if it were testing how much space it had to grow. Then came the heat. Not outside—inside. Spreading through her veins like her blood had been replaced with something heavier, something wrong.
And when it got bad—
She couldn't breathe.
Tonight was one of those nights.
Arielle leaned against the cold wall outside her apartment building, fingers digging into the rough surface as she tried to steady herself. The air felt thick, like it didn't want to go into her lungs. Each breath came shallow, uneven.
Not here. Not now.
She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it to pass. It always passed eventually. It had to.
Footsteps moved somewhere down the street. Cars passed. Life went on like nothing was happening, like she wasn't standing there slowly falling apart.
"Breathe," she muttered to herself. "Just breathe."
It got worse.
Her vision blurred at the edges. The streetlights stretched into long streaks of gold, bending unnaturally. Her chest tightened further, sharper this time, like something had noticed her and decided to press harder.
Arielle slid down the wall before she could stop herself.
This wasn't normal. Even for her, this wasn't normal.
A sound cut through the haze.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Too deliberate.
She almost didn't look up. People passed by all the time. No one stopped. No one ever—
The footsteps stopped right in front of her.
Arielle forced her eyes open.
At first, all she saw were shoes. Black. Clean. Still. Then her gaze moved up—dark trousers, long coat, the outline of a figure standing too close, too still.
Something about him felt… wrong.
Not dangerous. Not exactly.
Just wrong.
"Get up."
His voice was low, calm, and completely out of place.
Arielle blinked, trying to focus on his face, but her vision swam again. "I'm fine," she said automatically, even though she clearly wasn't.
A pause.
Then, quieter, sharper—"You're not."
There was no concern in his tone. No softness. Just certainty.
That irritated her more than it should have.
"I said I'm fine," she repeated, breath uneven.
Another pause. Longer this time.
Then he crouched.
The movement was smooth, controlled. Not rushed. Like he had all the time in the world.
Arielle finally saw his face—and something in her chest stuttered.
He wasn't just good-looking. That wasn't it.
It was the way he looked at her.
Focused. Intense. Like he wasn't just seeing her, but recognizing something.
And for a second—
A brief, strange second—
Fear hit her before she understood why.
His gaze flicked over her face, then lingered, studying. Calculating.
"You waited too long," he said.
Arielle frowned. "What?"
But before she could say anything else, the pressure in her chest spiked violently.
A sharp, unbearable pain tore through her, stealing whatever breath she had left. Her body jerked forward, a broken sound escaping her throat before she could stop it.
And then—
Darkness pressed in.
She didn't fall.
A hand caught her.
Firm. Steady. Familiar.
That was the worst part.
It felt like this wasn't the first time.
Arielle's fingers instinctively curled into his coat as her body shook, her breathing completely out of control now. Heat flooded her system, stronger than before, almost unbearable.
"What—" she gasped, voice breaking. "What is—"
"Quiet."
The word wasn't harsh. But it wasn't gentle either.
It carried weight. Authority.
Without thinking, she went still.
His hand tightened slightly on her arm—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold her in place. To ground her.
The heat didn't stop.
But it… shifted.
Slowed.
Like something had interrupted it.
Arielle sucked in a shaky breath, then another. Her vision cleared just enough to make out his face again, closer now. Too close.
"You're dying faster this time," he said.
The words didn't register immediately.
When they did, irritation flared through the haze. "That's—" she swallowed, forcing strength into her voice, "—not funny."
"I'm not joking."
Something about the way he said it made her stomach drop.
Arielle pulled back slightly, trying to put space between them, but his grip didn't loosen.
"Who are you?" she demanded, breath still uneven. "Do you just walk around telling strangers they're dying?"
"If they are."
Her jaw tightened. "I don't need your—"
The pain hit again.
Sharper.
Deeper.
Arielle gasped, her grip on him tightening involuntarily as her body betrayed her completely. The heat surged, spreading through her chest, her throat, her head.
And then—
Just as suddenly—
It stopped.
Not faded.
Stopped.
Like someone had flipped a switch.
Silence rushed in to replace it.
Arielle froze.
Her breathing steadied. The crushing pressure in her chest disappeared, leaving behind only a faint echo of what had been there seconds ago.
Slowly, carefully, she looked up at him.
He was already watching her.
Expression unreadable.
"How—" she started, but the question died before it fully formed.
Because deep down—
She already knew.
This wasn't normal.
This wasn't coincidence.
And it definitely wasn't random.
"You…" she hesitated, something uneasy settling in her chest, "what did you do?"
"Nothing," he said.
She didn't believe that for a second.
Arielle pulled away from him this time—and he let her.
That alone felt wrong.
She pushed herself to her feet, ignoring the slight weakness in her legs, and took a step back. Then another.
Distance felt necessary.
Important.
"Stay away from me," she said, even though her voice lacked its usual confidence.
He didn't move.
Didn't react.
Just watched her with that same steady, unreadable gaze.
"Is that what you want?"
The question was simple.
But it didn't feel simple.
Arielle opened her mouth—then paused.
Because the answer should have been easy.
Yes.
Of course yes.
She didn't know him. He was strange, unsettling, possibly dangerous.
Everything in her head told her to walk away.
But something else—
Something quieter, deeper—
hesitated.
That alone annoyed her.
"Yes," she said finally, forcing certainty into the word. "That's exactly what I want."
For a moment, neither of them moved.
Then he straightened, the distance between them widening slightly as he took a step back.
"Then don't come near me again."
Arielle blinked. "I—what?"
But he was already turning away.
Just like that.
No explanation. No hesitation.
Like the conversation was over.
Like she was over.
"Wait," she said before she could stop herself.
He paused.
Didn't turn around.
Arielle frowned, suddenly irritated again. "You don't just say something like that and leave."
A beat of silence.
Then—
"If you come near me," he said, voice calm, almost indifferent, "it will only get worse."
A chill ran down her spine.
"What will?"
He finally turned his head slightly, just enough for her to catch the edge of his expression.
Still unreadable.
"Your condition."
The words landed heavier than they should have.
Arielle crossed her arms, trying to regain some control over the situation. "You don't even know what's wrong with me."
"I do."
"You don't."
Another pause.
Then, quietly—
"I know enough."
That irritated her again.
"Then explain it," she challenged. "Go on."
He didn't.
Of course he didn't.
Instead, he looked at her one last time, something unreadable flickering in his eyes—something that almost looked like restraint.
"Stay away from me, Arielle."
Her breath caught.
He turned and walked away before she could react.
Arielle stood there, frozen.
Her mind barely keeping up with everything that had just happened.
Her chest felt… normal.
Completely normal.
For the first time in weeks.
But that wasn't what stuck with her.
It was the way he had said her name.
She never told him.
And somehow—
He knew.
Arielle's gaze followed his retreating figure until he disappeared into the darkness.
Something twisted in her chest.
Not pain.
Not fear.
Something else.
Something she didn't like.
"…Who are you?" she whispered.
No answer came.
But deep down—
She had a feeling this wasn't the last time she would see him.
And for some reason—
That scared her more than anything else.