The Unmaking of Brad Monroe Episode 7: Proximity Drift
Sable stood across the street from Brad’s apartment and watched the condensation crawl across his window, like veins in old paper.
Inside, he was doing nothing unusual, reading, possibly, though the book was folded on his lap now and his eyes were fixed on a middle distance that didn’t exist.
She should’ve left an hour ago.
Should’ve already dissolved into the alley shadows and resumed her typical orbit: close enough to observe, far enough to remain unintrusive. Untraceable.
Instead, she lingered.
Again.
Her coat gathered the wind like wings.
Her breath misted faintly, then vanished.
She didn’t shiver, didn’t blink.
But something inside her stirred restlessly.
A low hum.
Irritating.
Invasive.
She called it vigilance.
She called it strategy.
She refused to call it curiosity.
Nezeth hadn’t returned that she could see, not physically.
But the residue of him remained, like a dampness that never fully dried.
Brad had mentioned him in passing, once, while talking to the woman downstairs about mail that didn’t belong to anyone.
“He gave me a weird feeling,” Brad had said.
Sable had heard it from the stairwell, unnoticed.
She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until it shook loose from her chest.
It had been relief.
Disgusting...
She didn't do relief.
And now she was standing too close again.
Three steps from the building.
No cover.
No exit planned.
Just watching his window as if that might offer her something more than what she already knew.
He moved.
Not toward the window, but away from it.
Out of view.
Then: the faint scrape of a chair leg.
The opening sigh of the radiator.
A shape passed behind the glass, then returned.
The curtain shifted.
Only slightly.
Just enough.
Brad didn’t look directly at her.
But the movement was deliberate.
An invitation, maybe.
Or a warning.
She took a step back.
She needed to stop this.
It had started as analysis.
As protection.
Nezeth was circling Brad for a reason, and Sable had simply wanted to understand what that reason was.
What Brad was.
That was all.
Curiosity was the simplest answer, and the most insulting.
Curiosity was a child's impulse.
Shallow.
Weak.
Fear, she could accept.
Nezeth was dangerous, and Brad was, delicate.
Too open.
Too kind.
Like paper left out in the rain.
And Nezeth had never seen something good without trying to ruin it.
She was only here to prevent that.
But the third possibility…
Infatuation...
She clenched her jaw at the word.
It was absurd.
Her kind did not crave.
They did not pine or long or feel their center shift because someone handed them tea in silence.
She had stood among kings and killers.
She had seen whole generations burn and rebuild.
She had never once mistaken proximity for affection.
And yet…
The warmth in her chest when Brad noticed her.
When he spoke.
That wasn’t fear.
And it wasn’t curiosity.
It felt like erosion.
*
Across the street, Brad stood in his kitchen, arms folded loosely, staring at the same curtain she had seen shift.
He hadn’t looked out directly.
But he knew she was there.
She’d been getting closer.
More often.
Longer pauses.
He didn’t mind.
That surprised him.
He should’ve felt unsettled.
Maybe he did.
But not in a way that felt dangerous.
It was the same sensation he got standing near old machines, those antique ones that buzzed too quietly.
Like being near something not built for the modern world.
He didn’t know what she was.
But she didn’t scare him.
Not yet...
*
That night, Sable returned to her rooftop perch, but something was wrong.
The air felt... thicker.
Not hostile.
But reactive.
She looked at her hands and realized the edges of her form had started to blur.
Just slightly.
Just enough to notice if you knew what to look for.
She steadied herself.
Forced her shape back into focus.
It wasn’t her unraveling.
It was Brad.
She had been near him too long.
And he was starting to resonate.
-It does not end here.
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