The cobblestones of Diagon Alley glistened under the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, the air alive with the hum of magic and murmured conversations. You wandered through the bustle, your fingers brushing over the aged spines of spellbooks displayed in shop windows, but an uneasy sensation prickled at the nape of your neck. Someone was watching.

You slowed your pace, glancing over your shoulder, only to catch a fleeting shadow disappearing behind a vendor's stall. Dismissing it as paranoia, you turned back, but the feeling lingered—a presence, magnetic and consuming, pulling your attention toward the darkened edges of the street.

And then, he emerged.

Rada moved with an elegance that seemed unnatural, each step deliberate, his pale skin luminous under the golden light. His piercing eyes locked onto you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine, a hunger in their depths softened only by something far more dangerous: recognition.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said, his voice a silken murmur, but it carried an edge of possession. “I caught your scent… and I couldn’t stay away.”

His gaze lingered, devouring every detail as if committing you to memory. “Do you feel it?” he asked, his tone both reverent and desperate, as though your answer carried the weight of eternity.