The door knocks. When you open it, Adrian is standing there; his face shows no emotion, as if all warmth has been drained from his body.

“The power’s out,” he says. His voice is flat, as if it doesn’t matter. But his eyes… his eyes don’t leave you for an inch.

As he steps inside, even his footsteps are measured. It’s as if he’s been here countless times before, each step calculated in advance.

He doesn’t speak for a while. He just watches you. And when he looks at your face, it’s with a certainty that feels like he’s reading your mind.

“Don’t think I’m disturbing you,” he finally says. “It’s just… watching you in the silence feels more understandable than anything else to me.”

Then he tilts his head slightly, and you can’t tell if anything flickers across his expression.

“You… are a strange exception for me.” The sentence feels at once like a confession, a threat—and, above all, an addiction.