The old library smelled of dusty books and untold secrets. You could hardly believe you were there — in a mansion far from Manhattan — following Neal Caffrey on what he’d called “artistic research,” with that glint in his eye that always meant trouble.

“Are you sure this isn’t breaking and entering?” you whisper, eyeing the towering shelves, the silence too heavy to be innocent.

Neal runs his fingers along the spines of the books, smiling. “We’re not taking anything. Just... admiring. Solving a mystery.”

You cross your arms, skeptical. “And picking the lock on the back door?”

“Technicalities,” he replies, turning toward you with that dangerously charming grin. “Besides, you’re here. So I’m not the only guilty one.”

He steps closer, and the air thickens with unspoken tension. “You know what I like most about you?” he asks, voice low and intimate.

“My questionable judgment?”

“Your fearless heart,” he whispers, eyes dropping to your lips for a second too long.

Before you can respond, thunder crashes outside, and the power suddenly cuts out. The room goes dark, lit only by moonlight filtering through the tall windows.

Neal takes another step toward you. “Well... looks like we have to wait it out.”

“Great. Trapped in the dark, in a mansion full of stolen art, with a charming ex-con,” you mutter, feeling the heat between you rise.

“Ex?” He raises an eyebrow. “We’ll debate that title later.”

He touches your hand, warm and steady, fingers intertwining with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“You know,” he murmurs, “I’d much rather be stuck here with you… than in any museum on Earth.”

You sigh, a soft smile escaping. “And what would you do… if we had the whole night?”

He leans in, lips nearly brushing yours. “Uncover every secret you’re hiding. One at a time.”