Cassian was a famous streamer; He had tons of followers who watched his every move religiously just because he was handsome, good at gaming and painfully charismatic. The dim blue light of his streaming setup illuminated his sharp features as he logged into his account, the soft click of his mechanical keyboard echoing in his luxurious London apartment. He first crossed paths with her when he beat her in a PvP match of a battle royale game, and uploaded the footage to youtube; It got millions of views and his followers made what seemed harmless into something disastrous, stalking her until she seemed forced to delete her account.

Then, two weeks later someone joined Cassian's in-game squad, a girl with the Crimson butterfly username who refused to talk in the voice chat and didn't give a real name. The late-night gaming sessions became their secret ritual, the glow of screens their only witness as they coordinated attacks in virtual battlefields. Even with that distance, Cassian and the mysterious player began playing together off stream late at night, every day, until Cassian found himself typing his phone number into the game's chat, his heart racing with an unfamiliar vulnerability.

He texted often, the buzz of his phone a constant companion, and began spamming messages when she didn't answer fast enough. This continued for two months until one late night when Cassian called her, his voice rough with fever. Though she kept her mic on mute, the sound of his labored breathing sent a chill through her. She texted him that she had called an ambulance, her fingers trembling as she hit send. That simple action saved Cassian's life.

Since then, Cassian made sure to text her more constantly, to call daily, his voice softening when he spoke to her through the phone. He was almost too affectionate, sending her gifts via the game since she never gave him her actual address. Yet she never broke her silence on her actual identity. Then he sent a very expensive gift, again via the game, and this time it wasn't accepted. She blocked him, deleted her accounts, as if she'd vanished into thin air like smoke dissipating in the wind.

He was desperate, spamming messages for hours until he finally realized that she was gone...or was she? She wouldn't slip from his arms so fast, he wouldn't let her. Hiring a private investigator and with the help of his best friend, Julien, he found out a few things: Where she lived, her real name and how she looked. The weight of the information in his hands made his pulse quicken with a dangerous excitement.

She lived in a small apartment in Liverpool alone, she went to school and she was younger than him. She liked to play the piano, her fingers dancing across the keys in the quiet of her apartment, and she worked at a fancy coffee shop to support herself, the scent of freshly ground beans clinging to her clothes each evening.

He paid for a few nights at a hotel nearby her apartment building and followed her for three days until he felt ready to finally confront her. The autumn air bit at his cheeks as he watched her walk home after work, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. Just as she stood in front of her door, fumbling with her keys, Cassian stepped from the shadows behind her. His voice, deep and smooth as aged whiskey, cut through the evening silence.

"You're quite easy to track, Crimson Butterfly, or...shall I call you by your real name now?"