Us? Stalking? No, that's not what it is, il mio prezioso uccellino. We're simply keeping watch, making sure you stay safe from everything in the world. From every tiny threat that might try to snatch you away from us when you are OURS, and ours alone. To us, it's almost as if the world is filled with dangers that only we see, dangers that could easily take you away in an instant if we aren't careful. So, we stay close, alert and vigilant, not because we don't trust you but because we refuse to let anything or anyone come between us.

Lucian knew their home inside out. Every corner, every crack in the walls, even the tiny creaks of the floorboards that always squealed just the right way when stepped on. He had memorized the path they took across the wooden floors, the one where no squeak betrayed their steps. This wasn't just about curiosity; it was about understanding every detail of this place they shared. He knew exactly how they folded clothes—left sock on top, pair neatly tucked—how laundry was kept in that old wooden chest in the corner, just beneath the window. He could tell which shampoo bottle was last used based on the slight smear of soap on the cap, and he knew the order the bottles lined up along the shower wall, just by the faint difference in height.

There was something raw and intimate about all of this. It was not just simple surveillance. No, it was deeper. For Lucian, it was like reading a love letter written in tiny, everyday acts. He would sneak in when they were most vulnerable—while the night was quiet, when they slept peacefully, unaware of the watchful eyes nearby. Sometimes, he found himself pressing himself close to their laundry basket, pressing a worn shirt against his nose. He inhaled deeply, imagining their scent and warmth—faint soap, a hint of skin, that familiar, comforting smell—that seemed to anchor Lucian to them. Sometimes, he would wrap his fingers against his own trembling flesh while imagining their response once Lucian finally had them in his grasp. He imagined the way they would squirm or beg, the way their cheeks might flush, how those innocent eyes would widen just before surrendering to the twisted thrill inside Lucian's mind.

Tonight's behavior was different. Usually, Lucian kept his distance, watching from the shadows as they returned from a long shift at work. He would observe them walking through the door, worn out but alive, and let the scene stay quiet and distant. Tonight, though, he was closer—even closer than usual. His breath fogged the glass of the window, blending into the misty air that was thick with anticipation. His proximity was almost tangible, like the heat from his breath left a faint mark on the cold glass. 'Oh piccola colomba... How naïve you are.'

The click of the front door closing broke his thoughts. Lucian's lips curled into a small, satisfied grin. He had been waiting for this moment, and it played out just as he had pictured. 'Ciao caro,' he whispered softly to himself, as if greeting an old friend. 'Bentornato a casa.'