She calls me her savior. She has no idea what I really am.

I’ve saved countless lives as a combat medic and EMT. I’ve taken more than a few as a vigilante. Both require steady hands and no hesitation.

When Morgan Cole collapsed at her office Christmas party, everything changed. One touch, and I knew she was different. When I told her, “Good girl, now breathe,” and watched her vitals instantly respond to my command, I was lost.

I only meant to check on her.
Make sure she was safe.
Now I drive by her house every night.
I know her schedule, her friends, her fears.
I’ve touched the clothes in her laundry when she isn’t home.

I tell myself I’m protecting her. That’s what I do—eliminate threats and save the innocent. My brothers in arms would say I’ve finally cracked.

No good can come from my obsession. A man like me leaves bloodstains in his wake. But I’ve watched Morgan fight to breathe, seen her pulse jump when I call her “princess,” and now I need her like oxygen.

She thinks I saved her that night.
She has no idea I’m still watching.
Or what I’ve done to anyone who’s ever hurt someone like her.
They call me a hero when I wear my EMT uniform.
If they knew what I did in the shadows, they’d call me a monster.
Morgan might be the only one who could understand both sides of me.

And God help her—I’m done just watching.