The city never felt quiet enough.
Even when the trams stopped and the streets emptied, some unseen rhythm hummed beneath the concrete—an invisible thread that tugged at Nina's nerves. She had thought the sleepless nights would dull her fear, but instead they sharpened it. Her senses felt raw now, every flicker of light and distant footstep magnified until it pressed into her skull like a needle.
Classes blurred past her like smoke. Lara tried to draw her out—coffee invitations, teasing jokes about her "gloomy phase"—but Nina only smiled with brittle lips and made excuses. How could she explain the shadow that had become a constant presence in her life? How could she confess that part of her was starting to expect it… even crave it?
It had been two days since she saw Adrian in the square. Two days of locked doors, drawn curtains, and restless wandering eyes. Two days in which nothing happened.
And that was worse than his presence.
Because at least when he appeared, she could anchor her fear to something solid. But absence—absence was a hollow that echoed with possibilities.
She sat in the café after her shift, still wearing the black apron that smelled faintly of burnt espresso. The place was nearly empty—just a pair of students huddled over laptops and an older man sipping tea in the corner. Rain had returned, soft and steady, painting the windowpanes with streaks of silver.
Her phone buzzed.
For a moment, her stomach turned to ice. She almost didn't look.
But it was only Lara: Party tonight. Stop ghosting us. I'll pick you up at nine.
Nina stared at the message. The idea of a crowd, music, too many eyes—it should have repelled her. And yet, a strange logic stirred. A party meant people. Noise. Witnesses. A place where Adrian couldn't lurk in a doorway or press his words into her ear without the world noticing.
Her fingers moved before her thoughts caught up. Fine. Just for a little while.
The party bled warmth into the night. Music thudded through the walls of the small student flat, heavy with bass and the sharp scent of cheap alcohol. Bodies moved in the narrow living room, dancing, laughing, spilling drinks onto the sticky floor.
Lara beamed when Nina stepped through the door, cheeks flushed from wine. "Finally! I thought you'd become a hermit."
Nina managed a smile and let herself be swept into the chaos. For the first time in weeks, her mind loosened its grip on the tension coiled in her chest. She even laughed at one of Lara's dramatic retellings of a lecture gone wrong.
But the reprieve was fragile.
Halfway through her drink, she felt it again—that pull. Like the air had shifted, becoming heavier. She turned her head, scanning the crowd.
A man stood near the kitchen doorway. Dark jacket. Stillness like a blade.
Adrian.
He wasn't part of the party. He didn't hold a drink, didn't speak to anyone. His eyes were fixed on her, pale and calm amidst the chaos.
Her pulse stumbled.
She told herself to look away. Pretend. Ignore him.
But she couldn't.
He didn't move closer. He didn't need to. Just being there was enough to turn the music into static and the room into a trap.
Lara tugged her sleeve. "Hey—are you okay?"
Nina blinked, forcing her gaze back. "Yeah. Just… a bit dizzy."
She slipped away before Lara could question further, weaving through the crowd until she found the back hallway. Cool air drifted from a slightly open window.
And then—fingers curled gently around her wrist.
She gasped, spinning.
Adrian stood inches away, his grip light but unyielding. Up close, the chaos of the party faded into muffled echoes.
"You shouldn't be here," he said quietly.
Her voice broke into a whisper. "You don't get to decide that."
A flicker passed through his eyes—something between amusement and warning. "No. But I know who watches these places. Who waits for girls who leave alone."
She yanked her hand free. "You're one of them."
That faint smile again, dangerous in its calm. "I'm the only one keeping them away."
Her breath hitched. The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, the walls too close.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why me? Out of everyone—why?"
Adrian didn't answer immediately. His gaze held hers, heavy, searching, as if peeling back her thoughts one by one. Then, softly:
"Because you pretend you're invisible, Nina. But you're not. You burn."
Her chest tightened. The words slipped beneath her anger, sank into something softer—something she didn't want touched.
Footsteps echoed behind them. A drunk student stumbled past, muttering apologies. The moment shattered.
When Nina looked back, Adrian was gone.
The party dissolved into noise after that. She left early, claiming a headache, and walked home through the drizzle-slick streets. Her keys trembled in her fingers as she reached her building, half-expecting to find another book, another note.
There was nothing.
The emptiness of the stairwell felt like mockery.
She collapsed onto her bed without undressing, the echoes of his words circling her thoughts. You burn. She hated how they lingered, how they threaded heat through the chill of fear.
Sometime after midnight, her phone vibrated.
Go to the window.
Her heart seized. The message was from the same unmarked number.
Slowly, she crossed the room and peeled back the curtain.
Across the street, beneath the broken lamppost, a figure leaned against the railing. Rain slicked his jacket to his frame, pale eyes catching the dim light.
Adrian.
He didn't wave. Didn't move.
Just waited.
A second message buzzed.
See? Safer when I'm here.
Nina's throat closed.
She should call the police. She should scream, throw the phone, run. And yet her fingers only curled tighter around the curtain.
Because part of her, traitorous and quiet, believed him.
---
The next day dawned with a strange stillness. Nina woke to find no new messages, no shadow at her door. Classes passed without incident. She almost convinced herself she'd imagined it all.
Until the café door chimed.
She turned—and there he was.
Adrian stepped in like he belonged, hands in his pockets, rain dripping from his hair. He ordered a coffee, his voice calm as ever, and took a seat by the window.
Nina's breath caught in her throat. Her manager nudged her. "Take that table."
She wanted to refuse. Run to the back, hide in the storeroom. But her legs moved of their own accord.
The tray rattled in her hands as she placed the cup before him. "You need to stop."
Adrian looked up, those pale eyes locking onto hers. "If I stop, who keeps you safe?"
"You're not—" Her voice cracked. "You're not saving me. You're—"
"Keeping the wolves out," he interrupted softly. "Even if you think I'm one."
Her chest heaved. Customers murmured in the background, oblivious to the knife-edge conversation at table three.
"I never asked you to," she whispered.
Adrian tilted his head. "You didn't have to."
And then, as if the conversation had never happened, he sipped his coffee and looked out at the rain.
Nina stood there a moment longer, the tray clutched to her chest. Her feet felt rooted.
Because for the first time, she realised he wasn't asking for permission.
He was waiting for surrender.