Enzo’s POV

Enzo's POV

I sit in Doc Olivier's office, but my mind is elsewhere. The sterile white walls, the faint scent of antiseptic, the rhythmic ticking of the clock on the wall—none of it registers. My body is here, but my thoughts are tangled in something else, something unseen yet pressing against my consciousness like an itch I can't scratch.

Something about today feels off—as if the universe is trying to tell me something, whispering in a language I don't understand. It started this morning. The strange breakfast that appeared in my kitchen—warm, perfectly made, yet I hadn't cooked it. Then, the eerie sensation of being watched as I left my apartment. And now, this. Him. The man in the hallway.

He wears a mask and a cap, the brim pulled low enough to shadow his face. I never saw his features, yet something about him feels disturbingly familiar, like a song I've heard before but can't recall the lyrics to. The worst part? He's been there all day. Every single time I've walked through that hallway—five times now, to be exact—he's been standing in the same spot, never moving, never looking away. A shadow just beyond reach.

A sick feeling curls in my gut. Could he be my stalker?

The thought slams into me like a truck, sending a jolt of adrenaline through my veins. My pulse spikes, my palms dampen. I sit up straighter, forcing myself to breathe, to think. But my mind is already spiraling, racing through memories, trying to pinpoint why this presence unsettles me so much.

I can't just sit here.

Before I fully process my decision, I'm already moving. I shoot up from my chair, barely registering Doc Olivier's startled expression as he calls my name. His voice barely reaches me, muffled by the pounding of my heartbeat. I don't stop.

I reach the hallway.

And there he is.

Exactly where he was before. Unmoving. Watching.

Time stretches, slowing to an agonizing crawl.

My instincts scream at me—run, catch him, unmask him. And I do.

I surge forward, my breath sharp in my throat. "Hey!" I yell, but he doesn't flinch. Doesn't even hesitate. Then, just as I close in, he moves—faster than I expect. A blur, slipping through my fingers like smoke.

I chase him.

My feet pound against the floor as I weave through startled patients and hospital staff. Their eyes follow me, confused, concerned, maybe even scared. Someone yells something, but I can't focus. I push harder, ignoring the burn in my legs, my breath coming in sharp gasps. He turns a corner. I follow.

But just as I reach the hospital's front doors—he's gone. Vanished. Like he was never there.

I stop, breathless, panting like a dog under the summer sun. My pulse pounds in my ears, my chest heaves, and yet my eyes keep searching. How did he run so fast? It's impossible. One second he was right in front of me, and the next—nothing. Not even a lingering trace. No sound of retreating footsteps, no shadow slipping into the night. Just empty air where he stood, like a ghost fading into the wind.

A shiver races down my spine. Was he ever really there? Or was I losing it?

"Enzo, are you okay?"

The voice jolts me from my daze, grounding me back in reality. I turn sharply, finding Doc Olivier watching me with an expression of concern. I hadn't even realized he followed me.

"I thought I saw someone I knew," I say, forcing a half-smile even as my hands tremble slightly at my sides. "Guess it was just my eyes playing tricks on me."

He studies me, eyes dark and unreadable. I expect him to question me further, to press for more details, but instead, he does something unexpected. He takes my hand. His grip is warm, steady, anchoring. His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, a small, soothing gesture. It does help—just not as much as I wish it would.

"For a second, I thought you were running away from me," he says, his lips quirking into a faint smirk.

I chuckle, shaking my head. "Why would I?"

"Good question." He gives my hand a light squeeze before letting go, and for some reason, I immediately miss the warmth. "Come on, let's get some lunch. I also have something to talk to you about."

I hesitate for just a beat, glancing back at the doors one last time. Still nothing. Still no sign of him. With a sigh, I follow Doc Olivier back inside, though my mind remains tangled in the mystery of the masked man.

Inside his office, he places a neatly wrapped chicken sandwich and a bottle of my favorite yogurt in front of me. A small gesture, but thoughtful. He sits beside me, though something about the way he watches me feels... deliberate.

"What about you, Doc?" I ask, peeling back the wrapper of my sandwich.

"Don't worry about me. I ate something earlier," he replies smoothly.

I nod, standing up to wash my hands. The routine motions should calm me, bring me back to the present, but when I reach for a towel, I freeze.

It's embroidered with my name.

My breath catches. He got a new one for me?

Something in my chest tightens, unexpected and unbidden. When did he do this? How long has he been this attentive? The warmth of realization spreads through me, battling the unease still gnawing at the edges of my thoughts.

I dry my hands slowly, my fingers brushing over the stitched letters of my name before I return to my seat. This time, I make sure to put just a little extra space between us. Not because I don't trust him—but because I don't trust myself not to get lost in the quiet, careful way he cares.

I take a bite of my sandwich, letting the familiar taste ground me. But even as I chew, my mind keeps circling back to the masked man. To the impossible way he vanished. To the feeling that this isn't over.

"Are you okay? You don't like the sandwich? I thought I got it right." Doc Olivier said.

"Huh? No, no, I'm fine and the sandwich is delicious, it's just how I like it. How did you know this is how I like my sandwich?"

"Well, I went to the eatery you love to frequent and ask them what you like to order and how you like you sandwich. It wasn't easy but I got it and so I went back home and tried to recreate it until I got the right taste."

Tears welled up in my eyes, why is he so sweet? Is this a sign that he feels the same way about me?

"Doc Olivier why are you doing this? You are giving me mix feelings," I can't take it anymore, I need to know why, I need to know his intentions.