She didn't know her phone had been swapped.
To her, it was still the same weight in her hand. Same cracks along the edges. Same worn-out wallpaper of a blurry sky she never bothered to change.
But everything inside was different now.
New code breathed under the screen. Invisible threads connected her to him — to his system, his mind, his eyes. Every message she typed echoed twice. Every voice she whispered was recorded. Every step she took, he traced.
She had no idea.
And that made it easier to watch.
⸻
He renamed her folder.
From "Target_017" to just Elara.
No numbers. No tags. No labels.
She wasn't just a profile anymore.
He organized the data by hours:
• 8:10 a.m. — alarm snoozed
• 8:17 a.m. — again
• 8:45 a.m. — she finally got up
• 9:02 a.m. — she skipped breakfast
• 9:20 a.m. — she left home, hair tied loosely, didn't lock the backdoor properly again
He monitored her routes through CCTV jumps. Phone location. Traffic cams. Sometimes even reflections in glass windows.
And in every image, she looked… detached. Like she was moving because the world told her to — not because she wanted to.
He recorded everything.
Not because he needed to.
But because he was afraid one day he wouldn't be able to anymore.
⸻
"I had that dream again," she whispered one night, curled under her blanket.
She wasn't talking to anyone. She never did. But sometimes she spoke into the silence as if someone was listening.
And he always was.
"There was a window. And someone on the other side. But every time I got close, he disappeared."
She laughed softly. Bitter.
"Figures. Even my dreams ghost me."
He stared at her face through the feed, frozen. Something in his chest twisted. Not in pity — but something darker. Something hungrier.
She didn't know how visible she was.
How loud her pain had become — to the one person who never should've heard it.
⸻
He started learning her patterns.
Not just movements — but emotions.
What made her flinch. What songs she skipped. What notifications made her heartbeat spike. What videos she looped three times at 2:00 a.m. because she needed the comfort of something familiar.
He knew what outfits she wore when she felt anxious.
He knew which contacts she blocked but kept checking anyway.
He knew the one photo she always stopped on — a blurry picture of her with a man whose name never showed up in her messages.
He wondered who he was.
But not for long.
Because soon, he'd be the only one.
⸻
One morning, she walked past a man on the street — tall, laughing into his phone, not paying attention.
And the moment her shoulder brushed his, she froze.
Panic.
Her breathing hitched. She turned quickly. Walked the other way. Didn't look back.
Later that night, she stared at the ceiling and whispered,
"He looked like him. Just for a second."
Her voice cracked. She didn't say more.
But he noted it.
Whoever "him" was, he had left a scar. A deep one. The kind that never heals right.
He searched her gallery again. Found the same photo. Did a reverse image trace.
No results.
Interesting.
Whoever he was, he was either careful or forgotten.
Or erased.
He liked the last option.
⸻
That weekend, he did something new.
He sent her a message.
Just a small one — through a fake profile, blank avatar, no name.
"You matter. Even if it doesn't feel like it."
He watched her pick up the phone. Read the text. Blink.
She stared at it for a full minute. Didn't reply.
Then, slowly…
She smiled.
Just a little.
It was the first time he'd seen her smile.
And it wrecked him.
⸻
Observer Log 02: Feed Active
• Emotional Shift: +
• Threat Level: none
• Behavioral Risk: monitored
• Contact Attempt: SUCCESSFUL
• Result: positive dopamine spike detected
He saved the moment.
Screenshot. Logged. Backed up.
That smile was his now.
Just like she would be.
⸻
But with each day, his need grew.
It wasn't enough to watch anymore.
Not enough to read.
He wanted presence. Proximity.
To hear her voice in real life.
To see her without a lens between them.
To feel if she looked at everyone the same way… or if she looked at him differently.
He wanted to be the only constant in her world. The only one who never left. The only one who knew everything.
The only one who stayed.
And maybe…
The only one who could save her.
⸻
And so, he made a new plan.
One that would bring him into her world — naturally. Smoothly. Safely.
A way for them to meet, not as stranger and target…
…but as Elara and someone she could trust.
Because that was the trick, wasn't it?
People didn't fall in love with eyes watching in the dark.
They fell for the ones who listened. Who understood. Who showed up at the right time, with the right words, and the illusion of fate.
And if she needed a savior…
He'd become one.
Even if he was the danger all along.