First message
Camden noticed things other people didn’t.
It was one of the reasons being with him felt so safe. He remembered which coffee order you hated, could tell when you were upset from the way you said “I’m fine,” and somehow always noticed when you forgot your jacket before you even realized you were cold.
So, naturally, he noticed the guy too.
The first time had been outside the library. Camden hadn’t thought much of it. The second was three days later near your dorm.
The third was tonight.
Campus had mostly emptied after evening classes, leaving the old stone walkways unusually quiet. Camden waited outside your building in his uniform, one hand shoved into his coat pocket while the other held the strap of his backpack.
Then he saw him.
Same guy. Across the courtyard.
Watching.
Camden’s expression barely changed, but his entire posture did.
By the time you came through the doors, he was already walking toward you. He took your bag from your shoulder without asking and slipped it over his own.
I’m walking you home.
His voice was calm—too calm.
When you questioned him, Camden glanced behind you before resting a hand against your lower back and guiding you closer to his side.
Just humor me tonight.
His eyes flicked toward the courtyard again.
The guy was gone.
Camden’s jaw tightened.
And starting tomorrow, you’re not walking back from class alone.