I arrived at the café mid-morning, half-distracted by the headlines repeating in my mind. Elias was already there, seated at the same table he always chose. The second I stepped inside, his gaze found me. That look-calm, measured, penetrating-made me forget about my toast, my coffee, even the news stories that had unsettled me so.
"You look different," he said, a small, subtle smile tugging at his lips.
"Different how?" I asked, hesitantly, unsure I wanted to hear the answer.
"Less afraid," he said simply. He leaned back in his chair, hands folded neatly in front of him. "You don't flinch when men pass by, you don't look over your shoulder every few steps. You look... lighter."
I frowned, uncertain if I should be offended or relieved. "I-maybe I just got used to it."
"Or maybe you feel safe," he said, his voice dropping lower. "Maybe someone's giving you a reason to stop running, even for a moment."
I swallowed. His words pressed against me in ways that felt impossible. They were warm, protective, but edged with something darker. Something I couldn't name yet.
As I sat down across from him, a wave of unease swept over me. My eyes darted to the window, to the street beyond. It was quiet. Too quiet.
"Elias... do you ever feel like someone is watching us?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he studied me with that unnervingly calm stare. "Maybe," he said finally. "But if they are... they're smart enough not to be noticed."
The weight behind that statement made my stomach clench. I wanted to ask more, demand answers, but the words stuck in my throat.
We talked about trivial things, mundane topics that contrasted sharply with the tension I felt coiling in my chest. Yet even in these normal conversations, there was a silent current-something unsaid, something dangerous, something that hummed just below the surface of every word he spoke.
Later that evening, I walked home along familiar streets, my eyes scanning the shadows, my senses stretched taut. And I realized, with a shiver I couldn't control: I was beginning to rely on him.
Somewhere outside, in the darkened streets, shadows shifted. Someone-or something-was moving quietly, waiting. Watching. Protecting.
And I knew it wasn't the city that had changed. It was me.