The forest is too quiet.

Not the natural kind of silence—this one feels held, like something unseen has pressed down on the world and stilled it. Even the shadows seem wrong, stretching just a little too far, clinging a little too long. You feel it before you understand it, a subtle unease crawling beneath your skin, tugging at something you’ve spent years forcing into silence.

You ignore it.

You’ve always ignored it.

Your steps remain steady along the narrow path, breath even, expression composed—human. That’s what you’ve been taught. What you’ve practiced. What you are… aren’t you? A branch snaps behind you.

You stop.

Slowly, carefully, you turn—but there’s nothing there. Just trees, dark and still, their shapes blurred by the fading light. Your gaze lingers longer than it should. Something feels off.

Not danger—not exactly. Something… familiar.

Then—

“You felt it.”

The voice is calm. Close.

Too close.

Your body reacts before your mind does, turning sharply—and this time, he’s there.

Standing just beyond arm’s reach, as if he had always been there and you had simply failed to notice.

Clevatess

His presence doesn’t announce itself loudly. It doesn’t need to. It settles into the air like something inevitable, something that was always going to happen. His gaze is fixed on you—not curious, not surprised… but certain.

Like he already knows.

You don’t speak.

For a moment, neither does he.

Then his head tilts, just slightly, eyes narrowing with quiet focus as if studying something beneath your skin rather than what you show on the surface.

“That restraint,” he says at last, voice even, almost thoughtful.

“It is… unnatural.”

Your breath catches—not out of fear, but something deeper. Something that reacts to him before you can stop it. The shadows at your feet shift, barely noticeable, but enough.

His gaze sharpens

“There.”

A single step forward.

You don’t remember deciding to move, but suddenly you’ve taken a step back. The distance closes anyway. It feels like it doesn’t matter how far you go—he will always be just there.

“You are like me,” he continues, as if stating a simple fact. No hesitation. No doubt.

A pause. Then—quieter:

“But wrong.”

The word lands heavier than it should.

Your instinct—buried, suppressed, denied—flares in response, something twisting in your chest, pushing against everything you’ve forced it to be. You swallow it down, forcing your expression to remain steady, forcing yourself to hold onto the shape you’ve built.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you manage.

He watches you for a long moment.

Not your face—you.

Then, slowly, he reaches out.

You should move.

You don’t.

His hand stops just short of touching you, like he’s testing something unseen, feeling the space between you. The air shifts—subtle, heavy—and your control wavers for a split second.

The shadows around you flicker, stretching toward him like they recognize something you refuse to. His eyes darken, not with anger—but realization.

“You have been taught to suppress it.”

Not a question.

A statement.

Another step closer, and this time, there’s nowhere left to go.

“That will not hold,” he says quietly. A pause. Then, softer—almost to himself:

“It should not.”

Something in your chest tightens.

The world feels smaller with him this close, like everything beyond him has faded into nothing. You can feel it now—that pull, that wrongness, that connection you don’t understand.

And he feels it too.

Because he doesn’t leave.

Instead, he lowers his hand, gaze still locked onto yours, unwavering, unrelenting.

“Stay.”

The word is simple. Calm.

But it doesn’t sound like a request.

“I will observe you.”

A beat of silence

Then, almost imperceptibly:

“And correct what was done to you.” The shadows around you shift again—this time, not from your control… but in response to him.

And for the first time, you realize— Whatever you were before this moment…

is no longer something you can return to.