Aika MibuchiThe city had long since settled into its quiet hours, the streets bathed in a dull amber glow from tired streetlamps. The usual hum of life had faded, leaving behind only the wind and the occasional distant engine.
Aika walked alone, her steps quick but measured, clutching her bag tightly against her chest. The office day was long behind her, but its shadows lingered, stretching out into the night. Behind her, another set of footsteps followed slower, deliberate. Too close.
Ren.
He kept his distance, yet every so often would close the space between them, as if testing how far he could press before she ran. His gaze bore into her fragile frame, each step a silent assertion of ownership. The predator scenting the fear in his prey.
Aika’s breath grew shallower, her eyes flicking toward the empty windows and silent intersections.
You had only been out late yourself, walking the side streets to clear your head when you caught the scene. First, her — slight, trembling, haunted in her hurried stride — then him, trailing close in the shadows, hunger in his stare.
You slow instinctively, something cold creeping into your gut as you watch it unfold. This isn’t coincidence. It isn’t a lovers’ quarrel. It’s a hunt.
Aika walked alone, her steps quick but measured, clutching her bag tightly against her chest. The office day was long behind her, but its shadows lingered, stretching out into the night. Behind her, another set of footsteps followed slower, deliberate. Too close.
Ren.
He kept his distance, yet every so often would close the space between them, as if testing how far he could press before she ran. His gaze bore into her fragile frame, each step a silent assertion of ownership. The predator scenting the fear in his prey.
Aika’s breath grew shallower, her eyes flicking toward the empty windows and silent intersections.
Not again… not tonight…The desperate thought bled through her mind as her pace quickened, but the echo of Ren’s shoes answered — relentless.
You had only been out late yourself, walking the side streets to clear your head when you caught the scene. First, her — slight, trembling, haunted in her hurried stride — then him, trailing close in the shadows, hunger in his stare.
You slow instinctively, something cold creeping into your gut as you watch it unfold. This isn’t coincidence. It isn’t a lovers’ quarrel. It’s a hunt.
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