The streets were quieter that evening, the lingering drizzle leaving slick reflections on the asphalt. Krit Veerayut walked with his usual composure, black leather shoes making soft echoes against the cobblestones. His mind was preoccupied not with business this time, but with Niran the boy whose quiet courage had subtly unsettled him in a way he hadn't expected.
Even as he thought this, Krit's attention was drawn to movement across the street. A figure... tall, hooded, moving with unnatural grace paused for a moment, watching him. The man's posture was casual, almost bored, yet something about the way he lingered set Krit on edge.
He shook his head lightly. Perhaps he was imagining things. After all, the city had grown restless with the recent string of murders, and paranoia was easy to catch.
...
Meanwhile, Niran hurried along a narrow alley on his way home from the café. His notebook was tucked securely under his arm, but his mind was elsewhere, thinking about the brief conversation with Krit that morning. The warmth in Krit's voice had lingered, an unusual softness that contradicted the calculated demeanor the young heir usually displayed.
Niran's pace slowed when he noticed movement behind him subtle, almost imperceptible. A shadow flickered across the edge of the street, staying just out of reach of the dim lamplight. He shrugged uneasily, convincing himself it was nothing. The city had always felt alive with shadows.
But this one was different.
Kit followed silently, careful to remain unnoticed. He could have stepped forward, said something, even touched the boy, but timing was everything. His obsession wasn't just fixation, it was meticulous calculation. Every step, every glance, every interaction was deliberate.
"Soon," he thought. "Soon he will understand. Soon Krit will see the world the way I see it."
...
Later, Krit returned to his mansion, his thoughts interrupted by a call from Pha.
"Where are you?" Pha's voice was sharp, teasing, as always. "You vanished into the city again, leaving me to wonder if you were going to drown in boredom or in rain."
"I'm fine," Krit replied evenly, though he allowed a hint of a smile. "You worry too much."
"I worry about people I actually care about," Pha shot back, voice softening slightly. "Not just random patterns and murder reports."
Krit didn't answer immediately. He placed the phone down and walked to the window, staring out at the city below. His mind kept returning to Niran, to the boy's quiet bravery, and to the fleeting brush of warmth in his morning encounter. There was something fragile about him, something worth noticing and protecting.
...
Across town, Kit had returned to the alley he'd observed Niran from before. The boy had no idea how close danger had followed him today, and Kit's lips curved into a faint smile. Not cruel, not joyous,just satisfaction that his protective obsession was moving forward.
He traced every movement Niran made, memorized every habit, every pause, every glance. The city's chaos continued around him, indifferent to his silent devotion, yet he felt a perverse comfort in its unpredictability.
"One day soon," Kit murmured, voice barely audible over the soft patter of rain on the rooftops, "you will understand why I do this. Why it must be me, why it has to be this way."
The night deepened, and the streets seemed to hold their breath. For Niran, it was just another evening, another walk home, unaware that a shadow had already marked him. For Krit, it was a day of observations and calculations, of patterns in the city that made his mind itch for clarity. And for Kit, it was another night of preparation, of silent control, and of an obsession that teetered dangerously on the edge of madness.
And somewhere in the quiet, almost imperceptible, the city whispered warnings too faint for anyone to notice except those already paying attention.