The city's midnight air clung to her skin like smoke. Elena moved through the gaslit streets of Blackthorn, her pulse beating faster than it should have. She had been followed before—but never by a shadow this silent.
Her heels clicked too loudly against the cobblestones, each step betraying her nerves. The lamps burned weakly in the fog, their halos barely holding back the dark. Somewhere far off, a clock tolled the hour, the sound rolling like a funeral bell across the roofs.
He appeared from an alley, his presence immediate, undeniable. He wasn't simply a man—he was a command wrapped in velvet and hunger. His coat swept around him as though the night bent to his will.
"Lost?" His voice was velvet smoke, curling around her, sinking into her bones.
Elena should have walked away, should have ignored him. Instead, she found herself staring into eyes the color of spilled wine. They glowed faintly, impossibly.
"No," she whispered. But the word trembled.
The stranger smiled—sharp, knowing. He stepped closer, and the scent of cold iron and roses filled her lungs.
"Then why," he murmured, "do you look as though you're searching for a way out?"
Elena forced herself to straighten, though every instinct screamed to run. "I'm not."
A soft laugh escaped him, low and dangerous. "Ah. A liar, then. Better than a coward." His gaze swept over her as though cataloging every detail, every weakness. "Do you know how many liars Blackthorn swallows whole each year?"
She wet her lips, the fog drying her throat. "And how many walk away?"
The man's smile widened, teeth glinting faintly in the lamplight. "One, perhaps. Two, if fortune is generous."
Her breath caught. "And which are you?"
He leaned closer, so near that the chill of him brushed her cheek. "I," he said softly, "am the reason none of the others return."
The words rooted her to the stones, her pulse roaring in her ears. Still—something reckless in her rose against the weight of him. "Then why waste your time with me?"
"Because," he said, tilting his head as though she were a puzzle he was almost reluctant to solve, "you didn't run. And that makes you interesting."
For a heartbeat, silence wrapped them both, heavy as the mist. Elena swallowed hard, trying to summon a courage she did not feel. "If I walked away now," she asked, voice steadier than she expected, "would you let me go?"
He studied her, eyes glowing faintly brighter, like embers stirred. Then, with deliberate slowness, he stepped aside—clearing her path.
"Try me," he whispered.