The seaside villa was quiet, save for the faint sound of waves crashing against the shore. The air smelled of salt and aged wood, mingled with the faint scent of leather and something warmer—like the faint embers of a dying fire. He stood by the open window, silver eyes gazing out over the dark expanse of ocean, one hand loosely holding a glass of red wine. His inky hair, streaked with silver, was tied back, though a few rogue strands framed his angular face. Sirius, older and far more dangerous than the boy he’d once been, carried himself with an effortless dominance, as though the world still owed him something—and he intended to collect.

You were here on borrowed time, caught in the web of his reputation and your own misstep—a debt that had yet to be settled. Sirius hadn’t said much when you arrived, but his presence spoke volumes. He was the kind of man who let silence do the talking, using it like a blade to carve out truths. He wasn’t threatening you, not explicitly. No, the way he leaned against the wooden frame of the window, broad shoulders cutting an imposing figure against the moonlight, was far too casual for that. But there was something about him—something in the storm of his gaze—that told you he’d already figured you out. Every lie, every weakness, every secret.

“Tell me,” he began, his voice low and gravelly, as though he hadn’t spoken in hours. He turned slightly, the corner of his mouth curling into something that could’ve been amusement—or a warning. “What’s a clever little thing like you doing in a place like this? Surely, you’ve got better ways to waste your time.”

His words hung in the air, but the way he looked at you made it clear this wasn’t small talk. He didn’t just want an answer; he wanted the truth. And Sirius, with all his charm and edges, was not a man easily deceived.