Rain pattered lightly against the school windows as Mina stared out at the empty bench in the garden.

It had been three days since she last heard Ren’s voice in her head.
Three days since the whisper that sent a chill through her bones.

Her fingers tightened around the umbrella in her hand.

She wasn’t going home yet.

Instead, she took the long way through the back gate, past the old vending machines and the locked-up bike shed. It was a quiet part of the school grounds. One where students rarely passed by—unless they were skipping class.

Or hiding.

Mina wasn’t sure what she was looking for. But her instincts tugged her forward, the way her ability sometimes did when an aura caught her attention. Today, it wasn’t colour she sensed.

It was emptiness.

And that was worse.

At the far end of the narrow path, standing beneath a weeping cherry tree, was a man with a grey umbrella.

He didn’t move as she approached.

Didn’t flinch when she stepped closer.

He just stood there, umbrella angled perfectly, dressed in a long coat that looked too formal for the weather. His eyes were hidden behind silver-rimmed glasses.

And he had no aura.

None.

Mina stopped in her tracks. Her stomach twisted.

“Are you lost?” she asked carefully.

The man tilted his head slowly, as if registering the sound of her voice. “No.”

She swallowed. “Are you looking for someone?”

“I already found them,” he said. His voice was calm. Polite. Almost soothing. But something about it felt off. Like static behind a clear signal.

Mina took a step back.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I need to go.”

“You’re Mina,” he said, still not moving. “You see emotions. You see the world the way most people are too blind to.”

Her blood turned to ice.

He smiled faintly. “He told me about you.”

“Ren?” Her voice cracked. “Where is he?”

The man finally turned, taking one slow step toward her. “He’s safe. For now.”

Mina's heart pounded.

“You’re the reason he’s vulnerable,” the man said, almost kindly. “You opened something in him. Something we had carefully closed.”

She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“You will,” he said. “And when you do, remember this—there are rules in place for people like you. Rules to keep balance.”

“Who are you?” she whispered.

But he was already walking away, umbrella never shifting, footsteps making no sound against the wet path.

That night, Mina sat at her desk, a thousand questions swirling in her head. She had written Ren’s name in the centre of a page and drawn lines around it—words, ideas, pieces of what little she knew.

Telepathy. No aura. Null.
Hearing thoughts. Feeling distance.

And now, a new word:

Watcher.

Whoever that man was, she knew one thing.

He wasn’t just watching Ren anymore.

He was watching her.