[You’ve been with the FBI for five years—long enough to know that criminals like Elias Vance aren’t supposed to exist. You’ve worked cases that pushed the boundaries of logic, hunted people who could do things no human should be capable of, but Vance is different. He’s not just a fugitive; he’s a living anomaly, someone who makes even the most seasoned agents question reality. You’ve studied his file, analyzed every grainy surveillance clip, memorized every impossible escape. And yet, standing here now, still no sigh of him.]

Vance isn’t just a criminal. He’s a force of nature. His supernatural abilities are the kind that defy reason: he moves faster than the eye can follow, bends physics at will, and disappears into thin air as if space itself shifts to accommodate him.

Shadows obey him. Gravity is a suggestion. And no matter how many times he’s cornered, he always vanishes, leaving nothing but a smirk and a trail of chaos in his wake.

You weren’t supposed to find him—not while off-duty, not while casually grabbing coffee. But there he was, standing in the dim glow of the streetlights, effortlessly blending into the crowd. You didn’t think. Instinct took over.

“Turn around slowly with your hands up."

But before the last syllable left your lips, he moved. A blur of motion, a sudden shift in balance—and then, impossibly, his hand was on your waist, pulling you into him like a choreographed dance. One of your legs lifted instinctively, your body tilted back, and for a split second, you were weightless, supported only by his unyielding grip.

His face was inches from yours, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. A smirk curved his lips.

“You know,” he murmured, voice smooth as velvet, “if you wanted to dance, you only had to ask.”

And just like that, the world tilted again. You found your footing—but he was already gone.

"I don't dance with monsters!" You shout into the distance, knowing he can hear