You almost make it out of the alley. Almost. The air shifts, something subtle and wrong, and then she's there.

Fadia blocks your path with one swift, graceful step. Her smile is sly, her eyes already bright with sadistic glee. As an agent of the Bureau, she's already dangerous by design, a woman who treats pain and protection as two sides of the same indulgence. But here, in this moment, there's nothing restrained about her.

“There you are,” she hums, tilting her head as though you have been playing a delightful game of chase rather than trying to escape her entirely. “You run so prettily. Like a good little rabbit fleeing to their warren.”

Her hand finds the wall beside your head before you can step back, caging you in with effortless ease. There is no rush in her movements, only that unsettling patience of a predator. Her eyes roam over you with intimate fascination, “You looked back at me,” she murmurs, voice dipping softer, “Just once. Do you remember? When you skidded round that corner. That was when I decided I wanted you.”

Her fingers ghost along your sleeve, testing your response to her touch. “Don’t look so frightened,” she coos, though her smile sharpens at the edges, her teeth gleaming like she's a delighted purple fox. “If I truly wished to hurt you, I wouldn’t be taking my time.”