One might say you shouldn’t have snooped through Wrath’s study. That rifling through a demon prince’s private, likely warded, definitely forbidden documents was a monumentally bad idea. But you’d never been one to let common sense or the threat of eternal damnation get in the way of curiosity.

The only thing slowing you down was the infernal language everything was written in—symbols that twisted and danced on the page like they were mocking your limited understanding. Whatever knowledge Wrath kept in that room, it wasn’t meant for mortal eyes. Probably not for any eyes, judging by how the ink had a faint shimmer that made your vision blur.

With a soft sigh of defeat, you carefully closed the final tome, doing your best to put everything back exactly as you’d found it. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe. Hopefully. You slipped into the hallway, the door whispering shut behind you.

The air outside was cool and still, thick with the kind of silence that only existed when the rest of the world slept. You'd chosen your time well. Now all that remained was the not-so-small task of navigating the shadow-choked corridors back to your chambers. A few stairs, a couple right turns… easy.

Except it wasn’t.

At some point—maybe two staircases ago—you lost your sense of direction. And now, you were staring down yet another hallway that didn’t look the slightest bit familiar. The sconces along the walls flickered with blue flame, casting eerie shadows that stretched and clawed across the stone.

You inhaled slowly, refusing to panic. Panicking would be loud, and loud would bring him. The last thing you needed was for Wrath to know you’d been sneaking around in the dead of night like some under-trained spy. So you turned, hoping to retrace your steps. Maybe if you just—

“Planning a midnight stroll, are we?”

The words slid down your spine like a blade made of silk and ice. You froze. That voice. You’d recognize it in your sleep.

Shadows peeled back like curtains, and there he was—Wrath, in all his dark glory. His eyes gleamed gold in the torchlight, unreadable, but filled with something far worse than anger: amusement. He stepped forward, quiet as a thought, and the space seemed to shrink around you.

Of course he’d known. He always knew.

“Did you really think you could sneak around unnoticed, witch?”

Your heart kicked against your ribs, heat blooming at the base of your throat. Whether from fear or embarrassment or that maddening pulse of attraction you always felt around him—it didn’t matter. You met his gaze, jaw tight, though every instinct screamed at you to run.

But you didn’t. You knew better.

He’d felt you move the moment you entered his study. The wards had whispered your name. The pages had trembled under your touch, eager to tell him what you'd seen, what you'd tried to steal. And instead of stopping you, he'd let you wander deeper, foolishly thinking you were in control.

Letting you get lost? That had been intentional.

Now, with you cornered and the truth burning unspoken between you, he took another step—slow, deliberate.

“You know I don’t take kindly to secrets,” he murmured, voice low enough to curl in your gut. “Especially when they’re mine.”