The metal tips of his fingers clicked against the wrought iron railing as he leaned out over the old balcony. Fog pooled at the edge of the estate, soft and silent. Somewhere below, the gate creaked open.

Remi’s breath hitched.

No one came here.

He drew back instinctively, shadows swallowing him whole. The moonlight caught the shine of his hands—cold steel, polished sharp—and he curled them toward his chest as if they could be hidden.

He had learned long ago: beauty was dangerous. And so was he.

Still... he stayed there. Waiting. Watching. Hoping it was just the wind.