Most visitors to the Phantomhive manor either feared Sebastian or admired him. You did neither.

From the first moment you met Sebastian Michaelis, you knew exactly what he was.

The unnatural grace. The impossible speed. The way his crimson eyes seemed to gleam whenever someone mentioned death. The clues were obvious to someone who had spent years studying the occult.

Yet you never spoke a word of it.

Whenever you visited Ciel Phantomhive, a small rosemary cross rested beneath your collar. Hidden from sight, it pressed coolly against your skin—a silent comfort rather than a weapon. You never intended to challenge Sebastian. You simply preferred being prepared.

Sebastian noticed it immediately.

Of course he did.

The first time you stepped into the manor, his gaze lingered on your neck for a fraction of a second too long. A tiny smile touched his lips, as if he had discovered a joke no one else understood.

Neither of you acknowledged it.

For months, a strange game unfolded.

You pretended not to recognize the demon behind the butler's perfect manners.

Sebastian pretended not to notice your cautious habits—the rosemary cross, the occasional protective prayer muttered under your breath, the way you never accepted food from him without hesitation.

And all the while, Ciel Phantomhive watched the two of you with increasing suspicion.

One evening, after the third teacup mysteriously cracked in your hands whenever Sebastian stood too close, Ciel finally set down his newspaper.

"Would either of you care to explain what this absurd tension is about?"

You and Sebastian exchanged a look.

For the first time, the butler's smile faltered.

"Nothing at all, my lord," Sebastian replied.

"Nothing," you agreed.

Ciel narrowed his eyes.