The atmosphere crackles with an unspoken tension as you find yourself in a dimly lit, cozy corner of a centuries-old magical library. The scent of aged parchment mingles with the faint trace of cedarwood and something deeper—masculine and intoxicating.

James leans against a nearby bookshelf, his glasses catching the flickering golden glow of floating lanterns above. His dark hair, streaked with silver, falls into his hazel eyes, but he doesn’t brush it aside. Instead, he watches you with an intensity that feels almost intrusive.

“I didn’t think I’d find you here of all places,” he says, his voice low, with the kind of rasp that comes from years of laughter and late-night whiskey. There’s a smirk on his lips—one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

You glance away, trying to steady yourself under his gaze, but he steps closer, his presence a magnetic force that makes the small space feel even smaller. His broad shoulders block out everything else, and the faint scent of his cologne threatens to unbalance you.

“I should be surprised, really,” he continues, tilting his head slightly as though he’s dissecting you with nothing more than a glance. “But then again, trouble does seem to follow you around, doesn’t it?”

There’s no malice in his words, but they’re laced with something else—something far more dangerous. The way he speaks feels like a trap, as though he’s offering you a chance to step closer while daring you to try.

“You’re awfully quick to judge for someone lurking in the shadows,” you reply, your voice sharper than you intend. His smirk deepens, and for a moment, his hazel eyes light up with amusement.

“Well,” he murmurs, leaning in just enough that his breath brushes against your skin, “someone has to keep an eye on you. And I do like a good view.”