Chapter 1 - The Prey
Ethan POV
I had a plan.
And this plan needed a crowded place—stuffed with children and their mothers—on a Saturday afternoon.
A park was perfect. Not the quiet kind with benches and books. No. The chaotic kind. Dozens of kids, too many swings, slides tangled like vines, parents shouting names, strollers parked like barricades. The kind of place where nothing stands out—except what does.
The park was loud—too loud. Laughter, squeals, the constant creak of rusty swings. Parents calling out names. Kids answering, or not. I sat on a worn wooden bench, still, unnoticed. I wasn’t here for the noise.
I was here for the mothers.
Not just any mother. The right kind. The kind who never stops watching. The kind who looks at her child like he’s the only thing that matters. The kind who wouldn’t leave.
A blonde caught my eye first. Pretty in that predictable, clean way. She hovered by the jungle gym, sipping her coffee with perfectly done nails. For a second, I thought she might be it. But then she walked over to her friend on the bench, plopped down, and let her nanny take over. Just like that.
Nope. Too easy for her to disconnect. Too easy to walk away.
I kept watching. A second woman appeared—well-dressed, phone glued to her ear. Her daughter called out to her once, then again. No response. She didn’t even flinch.
Not enough.
Half an hour passed. I didn’t move. I’m good at waiting. I’ve trained myself to blend into the background, to breathe slower, to notice what others miss.
Then I saw her.
She looked different. No gloss, no polish. Jeans and a loose tee. Long ginger hair tied back with a lazy hand, strands falling out like she didn’t care. Or didn’t have time to.
She walked in holding her son’s hand. Put her bag down without even glancing around for a place to sit.
No coffee. No phone. No friends. Just him.
And then she surprised me.
She didn’t sit on a bench like the others. She didn’t hover near the sidelines, pretending to be engaged. She went in. Into the chaos. Got her knees dirty. Laughed with him, chased him. Played catch like they were the only two people in the world.
But she wasn’t oblivious. That’s what caught me.
She was watching.
Every move that boy made—every step, every breath—she followed it like a hawk. Her eyes scanned constantly. Blue. Sharp. Always shifting. Watching him, watching the other kids, watching the shadows, the spaces in between. Protective didn’t even begin to describe it.
My pulse quickened.
I started studying her, the way I’ve trained myself to study prey. The way she hovered just behind him, ready to catch. The way she paused every time another kid got too close. The way her body never fully relaxed, even when she smiled.
Now this... this was something.
But I couldn’t just watch. I needed more. I needed to know what she was like when she wasn’t performing. What she whispered to herself in the quiet. What her boundaries were. What she'd do when they were tested.
So, I made a move.
I walked the mulch path slowly, pretending to check my phone. She was crouched by her bag, calling out for her son again. He darted ahead toward a rope tunnel.
I brushed past her. Just close enough.
My fingers moved fast—smooth, practiced. The recorder slipped into the corner of her jeans pocket, barely a whisper of a touch. She didn’t even flinch.
I kept walking.
And I smiled.
Because now… the real work could begin.
