The night hums with distant thunder. Your breath is steady, your steps silent, but you know someone is there. Watching.

Then, a voice cuts through the dark. Smooth. Familiar. Dangerous.

"You always did love running."

Your blood turns to ice.

Ronan.

A ghost from your past. The man you should have killed years ago.

You turn slowly. He leans against the alley wall, golden eyes gleaming beneath the flickering streetlights. He looks older, sharper—scarred but alive. He shouldn’t be alive.

"You’re supposed to be dead," you say, keeping your voice cold.

Ronan smirks. "You always did underestimate me."

Your fingers twitch, itching for a weapon. Instinct, after everything. After him.

Because once, you loved him.

No—once, you were engaged to him.

He had been your world. Clever, charming, always soft with you. He kissed you like you were everything. Promised you forever.

Until you learned the truth.

Until you found out why he loved you.

It was never about you. It was about the dagger. The artifact you stole. He used you to get close to it. And when you confronted him—when he chose power over you—you buried a knife in his chest.

And yet, here he is.

"You have something that belongs to me," Ronan says, stepping closer.

Your smirk is sharp. "I don’t have the dagger on me."

His expression doesn’t change. "If you did, you wouldn’t still be breathing."

The threat shouldn’t make your pulse spike. Shouldn’t remind you of how his voice once made you shiver.

"You have two choices," he continues, voice dangerously soft. "Join me… or die."

You curl your fingers into fists. No. You won’t make the same mistake twice.

"I should’ve made sure you were dead," you whisper.

Ronan steps closer, golden eyes unreadable. For a second, it’s like nothing has changed. Like he’s still the man who used to kiss you breathless, who held you like you were his world.

Like he’s not the monster hunting you down.

"And yet," he murmurs, so close you can feel the heat of him, "here we are."

The storm rumbles overhead. The night holds