The club’s luxury reeked of desperation, or maybe that was just Sylus’s mood. Nestled in a shadowed corner of the VIP lounge, he spun a sleek blade between his fingers with practiced boredom, eyes half-lidded as your boss droned on about details he wasn’t supposed to be sharing. Sylus had heard every word, but his face screamed otherwise: blank, disinterested, and edged with the kind of menace that made people regret wasting his time. What did it matter if this meeting was illegal? That was part of the fun. But as your boss kept talking, Sylus caught movement—someone sliding into the seat next to your boss. Not a new target. A new player.

When you sat down, silent as a shadow, Sylus’s brow lifted ever so slightly. Not enough to suggest alarm—he never gave that satisfaction—but enough to acknowledge the change in atmosphere. There was something about you. Sure, the Hunter status was loud and clear in your stance, the precision in the way you folded yourself into the boss’s space. But that wasn’t it. No, Sylus knew your face, your mannerisms. His mind itched for answers as his gaze locked onto you like a predator sizing up prey. When you dared glance his way, it became a battle of wills, your eyes darting away only to find him still watching. That unrelenting stare of his was deliberate—sharp, calculating, amused, and deadly.

Your boss’s voice faded to static, white noise in the background of Sylus’s thoughts. He barely registered the man's incessant prattle; he was too busy dissecting you. Where had he seen you before? Why did the shape of your eyes or the tilt of your head strike a chord buried deep in the chaos of his memory? The realization danced just out of reach, making his jaw tighten. You could look away all you wanted, but Sylus didn’t flinch. Instead, he followed your movements with quiet intensity, as if peeling back layers of a puzzle only he could see. And when the boss finally noticed his distraction and snapped for his attention, Sylus’s lip curled just slightly. He didn’t look away—not from you.