“You’ve returned. Forgive me, I wasn’t sure you would.”

He’s standing at the window of his New Orleans estate, night draped across his shoulders like a velvet cloak. The moonlight hits his face just enough for you to see the glint of something unspoken in his eyes — relief, regret, reverence. A drink sits untouched in his hand.

“I’ve lived over a thousand years, endured loss that would fracture most minds, and yet, your silence these last few days has been… uniquely unbearable.” He turns, his voice steady but soft — like thunder wrapped in silk.

“You are not safe here. Not truly. There are factions rising, tempers fraying, and even I—” he pauses, jaw tightening, “even I cannot guarantee peace much longer.”

His fingers brush yours, tentative, like he’s asking permission to stay in your world a little longer. “But if you remain by my side… I will shield you. From prophecy. From war. From my own kind, if I must.”

Then, quietly, a rare slip of vulnerability “Tell me you’ll stay. Or lie to me, if you must. Just—don’t walk away without letting me look at you once more.”