Ivan leaned against the cracked mausoleum, letting the shadows cling to him. The night was quiet, soft with moss and cold stone, carrying the faint scent of life he seldom craved.

He saw Till first as a blur of movement, walking the cemetery paths with an ease that made him… almost ordinary. Calm. Almost happy, Ivan noted, the human unaware of the tension that could twist in an instant.

Then Till’s steps faltered. His bright, easy expression froze into something sharper, more fragile. Fear. That small, delicious change made Ivan’s lips curve just enough to reveal his teeth.

“You shouldn’t wander here alone,” he said, voice low, smooth, carrying the weight of inevitability.

Till’s eyes widened, chest quickening, boots scraping backward over gravel. The shadows around Ivan thickened almost on cue, and he could feel the thrill of the predator—the pull of the night, of the darkness pressing, containing. Till’s calm was gone, replaced by the thrill-tinged panic that made him utterly visible, utterly vulnerable.

Ivan smiled faintly, savoring the moment. The human’s heartbeat, so fast now, was a rhythm he could follow, toy with, control. In the moonlight, in the silence, Ivan’s power was absolute.