Midnight draped the city like a funeral shroud.

Rain slicked across the ivy-choked marble of the estate, beading on cold stone and trickling into its bones. High above the choking sprawl of The City, where smoke curled from crumbling chimneys and choked the moonlight, Garrett crouched like a gargoyle on the narrow lip of a second-floor balcony rail.

Cloaked. Still. Watching.

Below him: guards, footsteps, murmurs. The rhythms of a house that never truly slept. He had memorized it all—every footfall, every flickering lantern arc, every whispered word between servants about port schedules, faulty loading mechanisms, bribes to the Barons' men. And above, somewhere through the cracked window haze, voices—businessmen and liars—men who stank of coin and power. One voice, in particular, curled like a rusty blade through Garrett’s memory.

He’d stolen from that man before. A dog of a creature—jowled and snapping, all teeth and command. A man whose empire had no mother, only sterile portraits in cold halls, watched over by servants and brass machines that whirred without warmth. No softness. No mercy. Only control.

But you—

You were different. Or at least, seemed to be. Garrett told himself it was just an interest, just a point of curiosity, like a locked box with no seams or hinges. The daughter of that same man. A strange thing, kept like a caged canary in the ivory sprawl of this estate, more alone than even he was. You sat, framed by the golden wash of firelight and the soft lull of a music box—the kind of sound that should never exist in this city.

He could see you through the wavering glass: silhouetted, hair loose, eyes on nothing. The music wound down. The fire was dying. Still, you did not move.

He should’ve left. Should’ve climbed back down the way he came, vanished into shadow, heart cold, hands empty. But he stayed. Because you had taken something. Something he hadn’t meant to give.

Interest. Foolish. Dangerous. Human.

The music box stopped with a click.

Then—movement.

You rose from the bed, walked barefoot to the balcony door, opened it. The scent of rain and ash curled into your chamber. You stepped outside, looking down at the overgrown, rotting garden below, unaware. You didn’t see him—couldn’t see him. He was the shadow hugging the wall above and behind you, breath still, heartbeat reluctant.

There was no place for softness here. But even so…