Chapter Four: A Hunter's Missteps

Andrei:

The boy didn't walk towards the studio.

I watched from the shaded alley across the college as Matthew stepped out the main building, his emerald eyes reflecting the weak afternoon sun. His messenger bag hung loosely off one shoulder, one hand tucked into his pocket, and the other wrapped around a sketchbook. His gaze flicked toward the road, not toward the direction he usually took to his studio. Odd. He hesitated for a second, then turned left, opposite from where I expected.

I narrowed my eyes.

He was supposed to be heading back. That’s what he did, every day this week. A consistent loop; college, studio, late return, occasionally a stop at a bookstore or a nearby corner café. But not this. Not this sudden deviation.

I clicked my tongue and adjusted my coat before following at a casual pace, keeping a healthy distance. I stayed behind the crowd, weaving through gaps and taking cover behind passing vans or busy bus stops. London was a maze, but one I could navigate blindfolded if I had to.

Matthew didn't look back. Not once.

I tailed him for blocks. Through quiet roads and crowded sidewalks. The boy had a natural grace, an unhurried confidence. Most wouldn’t even guess that someone like him had any reason to be cautious.

But I did. I knew something about him didn’t sit right. He was too quiet. Too composed.

And now, he was unpredictable.

I picked up the pace slightly as he ducked into a narrower lane, flanked by old brick buildings and wrought-iron fences. Footsteps echoed. Mine and his. But—

I stopped.

He was gone.

My brows furrowed. I scanned the path ahead. No sign of him. No open doors. No sound of shoes on pavement anymore. I moved quickly, but there was no way he had disappeared so fast, not unless he’d known.

Not unless he’d planned it.

A cold unease slid down my spine.

A sudden voice, soft and uncomfortably close, made my entire body tense.

“You’ve been stalking me, haven’t you?”

I turned sharply, instinctively reaching under my coat for the knife sheathed at my side. But it was him.

Matthew.

Just a foot away, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, tilted slightly in amusement. His eyes, striking and deep, stared into mine with a sharpness I hadn't seen before.

He had the expression of someone who had caught a predator in a trap. Calm. Confident. Like he knew I wouldn’t hurt him.

I stared back, frozen for a moment.

No one had ever snuck up on me like that.

“I…” I began, then stopped. I wasn’t prepared. “I wasn’t stalking you.”

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed. “You’ve been following me since Tuesday. Third time you hovered near that cafe.” His head tilted slightly. “Are you obsessed with me?”

I should’ve been irritated. Instead, I was—

Impressed.

The boy wasn't just perceptive. He was dangerously aware.

A crooked grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “What? Cat got your tongue, Mr. Stalker?”

“I know you’re not ordinary,” I said before I could stop myself.

His grin widened, but his eyes didn’t smile.

“Neither are you.”

And with that, he turned his back on me and walked away like he hadn’t just unsettled a man who'd been trained to kill.

I stood there for a moment, watching the way his frame vanished again into the foggy street, half wondering if he would turn around and disappear like before.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he left me standing in silence.

And for the first time in years, I was the one being watched.

I stood there like a statue long after he disappeared around the corner.

That voice, sharp and calm, teasing and fearless—still echoed in my ears.

I didn’t like surprises. I hated being caught off guard.

But more than that, I hated the way my chest felt too full of something I couldn’t name.

Curiosity?

No. It was worse than that.

Fascination.

He shouldn’t have seen me. Shouldn’t have known. Yet he did, and he turned the tables with a grin like he owned the entire street. He was either foolishly brave or just... brilliant. Maybe both.

I exhaled sharply and tugged at the collar of my coat, eyes narrowing.

Walk away, Andrei. Be smart.

But my legs moved before my mind could protest. I stepped back onto the path he vanished through, heart picking up its pace, not from nerves, but from interest. I followed quickly. I spotted the sway of his coat a dozen steps ahead.

He hadn’t picked up speed. He knew I’d follow.

When I caught up to him, he didn't even flinch. His steps remained steady. Controlled.

I slowed until I was beside him. For a while, we walked in silence.

Then Matthew spoke, glancing at me sideways. “So. What are you then? Some kind of detective? Or just another weirdo with a trench coat fetish?”

A snort left me before I could stop it. “Definitely not a detective.”

“Hm. Not denying the weirdo part.”

I smiled faintly. “You’re sharp.”

“I’m observant,” he replied. “There’s a difference.”

I watched the way he walked, measured, hands in his pockets, head angled slightly downward like he was always sketching the ground with his eyes. “So you knew I was tailing you this whole time?”

“Since the first day.” He gave a lazy shrug. “You always carry yourself like you’re invisible, but people like you are too tense to disappear.”

He said it so easily. No fear. No hesitation.

That tone of voice, dry and playful, but edged with something calculating.

“What gave me away?” I asked, strangely eager to know.

“You breathe different when you're pretending not to exist,” he said. “And you’re too clean to blend in.” He turned slightly to eye my shoes. “Even your boots are quiet. Military, yeah?”

I smirked. “Former.”

“I figured.”

He wasn’t just observant. He was trained in some way, perhaps not formally, but his instincts were alarmingly sharp.

A moment passed. Then I nodded toward a small café across the street. “Let me buy you a coffee.”

Matthew stopped walking.

He blinked at me slowly. “You wanna bribe me with caffeine?”

“I want to talk to you,” I said honestly. “You’re interesting.”

His expression flickered, briefly surprised, and then he narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m trying to figure that out myself.”

He stared at me for a moment, as if trying to read through my skin. I didn’t flinch.

Eventually, he sighed and looked toward the café. “That place is overpriced.”

“I wasn’t planning to ask you to pay.”

“…Fine,” he muttered. “But I swear, if this turns into a murder attempt, I’m throwing hot espresso at your face.”

I gave a soft chuckle. “Fair enough.”

We crossed the street. He didn’t walk ahead or behind me this time, he stayed beside me. Still tense. Still calculating. But there was something lighter in his step, like maybe he wasn’t expecting someone to keep up with him and actually try to.

We slipped into the warm café. A soft bell rang overhead. The scent of roasted beans and old wood wrapped around us. The space was dim, cozy, tiny tables by foggy windows and humming lights overhead. A quiet spot tucked into the noise of the city.

He glanced around before sliding into a seat at the back, choosing a booth that gave him full view of the entrance.

Instinctive.

I ordered two coffees, his with oat milk after he gave me a flat “I’m lactose intolerant, you demon”, and returned to the table. He accepted the drink without thanks, just a long sip and a raised brow.

“So,” he said, his voice dropping a little. “What now, stalker?”

I met his eyes.

“Now I ask who you really are.”

He tilted his head. “And what if I ask you the same?”

My smile returned, slower this time. “Then we’ll trade answers.”

For once, he didn’t look like he wanted to run.

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