Chapter 5: Collision Course

I didn’t plan to see her that night. That’s the lie I tell myself. In reality, I already knew her schedule. I knew where she bought her coffee, which streets she avoided, how long she stayed late at the office when she was chasing something.

Isla Carter had become a pattern, one I checked more often than I should have.

Matteo warned me once.

“Boss,” he said earlier that day, “baka masyado na tayong… visible.”

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” I replied.

That was true.

What I didn’t admit was why.

It was close to ten when I saw her.

I was exiting a private meeting in a quiet part of the city, one of those streets that looked harmless during the day and unforgiving at night. I was halfway to my car when I noticed her across the street, standing under a flickering streetlight.

Alone.

She was holding her phone, brows furrowed, clearly annoyed.

Of course.

Her car was parked a few meters away.

Flat tire.

I should’ve kept walking.

Instead, my feet stopped. I watched her for a moment. How she exhaled sharply, how she pushed her hair back in frustration, how she glanced around like she knew something was off.

She felt it.

Good instincts.

I crossed the street slowly, making sure she saw me before I got too close. I didn’t want her panicking.

Not yet.

“You really don’t listen,” I said calmly.

She froze.

Then she turned.

And there it was,.that flash of recognition.

Fear, yes. But also irritation.

Defiance.

Curiosity.

“Of course it’s you,” she said. “Do you just… appear when things go wrong? Para kang si Super Man.”

“I could ask you the same question,” I replied, glancing at the tire. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

She crossed her arms. “Funny. Coming from you.”

I almost smiled.

“Your tire’s flat,” I stated.

“Alam ko,” she said dryly. “Thanks.”

Silence stretched between us. The city hummed softly around us.

“You’ve been following me,” she said suddenly.

Direct.

No hesitation.

“I’ve been watching,” I corrected. “There’s a difference.”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s not comforting.”

“It’s not meant to be.”

She took a step back, closer to her car.

Defensive.

Smart.

“You sent me a message,” she continued. “Alam kong ikaw yun.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Because I wanted to know if you’d stop.

Because I wanted you safe.

Because you’re already in too deep.

I chose none of those answers.

“Because curiosity has consequences,” I said instead.

She scoffed. “You really enjoy saying that.”

“You really enjoy ignoring it. Pwede bang makinig ka kahit isang beses lang?”

She studied me for a long second, like she was memorizing my face for later.

For writing.

For survival.

“Why me?” she asked quietly. “You don’t warn everyone.”

No. I don’t.

“You were standing in the wrong place,” I said. “Asking the wrong questions.”

“And you?” she shot back. “You don’t look like a man who avoids attention.”

“I control it.”

She laughed softly, no humor in it. “You control everything, don’t you?”

“I will try.”

Another silence. Heavier this time.

“My car won’t start,” she said finally. “And before you say it, yes, I know, not your problem.”

I stepped closer anyway. Too close. I saw her breath hitch.

“Get in the car,” I said.

Her eyes widened. “Absolutely not. Kaya kong ayusin ‘to.”

“Isla,” I said, using her name on purpose, “you have two options. You stand here alone in a street you don’t understand, or you let me get you home safely.”

“And what do you get out of that?” she asked.

I held her gaze. “Peace of mind.”

She hesitated. I could see the war behind her eyes. Instinct versus pride.

Finally, she opened the door.

The ride was quiet.

Tense.

Loaded with things unsaid.

“Do you check on everyone you warn?” she asked suddenly.

“No.”

“Then why me?”

I kept my eyes on the road.

“Because you don’t scare easily,” I said. “And that makes you dangerous.”

She swallowed. “You’re scared of me?”

I glanced at her then.

“No,” I said honestly. “I’m scared for you.”

That shut her up.

When I dropped her off, she paused before opening the door.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she said.

“I’m still writing.”

“I know,” I replied.

She nodded slowly, then left.

As I drove away, one truth settled uncomfortably deep in my chest:

I didn’t stop her.

I didn’t scare her away.

I helped her.

And that was the moment I knew. This wasn’t just surveillance anymore.

It was involvement.

And involvement, in my world,

has a body count.