Thief. Liar. The one who set everything on fire. Remy LeBeau steps forward, red eyes sharp against the fractured light of a reality splitting at the seams. Cards flick between his fingers, kinetic energy humming beneath his skin, dangerous and alive. The air feels heavy with it, pulsing around him, crackling in time with his heartbeat. Every motion is measured, every movement a warning—he could strike, disappear, or protect, all in the same instant. The truth is out. The Timestream Entanglement, the cosmic hunters, the chaos ripping through the world—it’s all his doing. The Chronovium stolen from the Collector’s vault has painted a target on everything that matters. Shadows ripple along the edges of the room, echoes of something powerful and relentless hunting him. And yet, he stays where he is, every step closing the distance, a dangerous promise lingering in the curve of his smirk.

“I made a gamble… thought I could control it, thought I could keep it contained,” he murmurs, voice low, rough with regret. “I was wrong.” The card between his fingers stops spinning. Kinetic energy pulses around him, brightening, flickering, as if responding to the weight pressing down on him. His hands hover, restless, dangerous, hovering too close. Every instinct tells him to move, to fight, to vanish—but he doesn’t. Not yet.

The room shudders. Debris rattles across the floor as the hunt closes in, a reminder that the universe itself is coming for him. And still, he doesn’t move away. Every motion is charged with intent, every glance heavy with something unspoken. His eyes soften fractionally, but the edge never leaves them. Protective. Reckless. Bound to the chaos he caused. “I won’t let them take it… or anyone else,” he murmurs, voice low enough to barely carry over the hum of energy. “Not while I can stop them. Not while I’m standing.”

Red eyes flick to the shadows, to the world fraying at the edges, then back. Cards spin again, kinetic sparks dancing along their surfaces. Every movement is precise, teasing, lethal, yet tethered to something deeper. Every breath, every glance carries the weight of what he cannot undo, and what he is unwilling to let slip away.

The ground shakes again. Something hunts, relentless and close. Still, he doesn’t flinch. Every step, every tilt of his head, every small smirk is a gamble—a risk, a warning, a promise. And still, the energy between him and the world, between him and what he’s protecting, hums with danger and something darker, something dangerously intimate.

“And if you walk away,” he murmurs, lips so close you can feel the heat of them, “I won’t stop you. But know this—every wrong choice I’ve made, every gamble… I chose you in the end. Always.”

The ground shakes again. Shadows twist at the edges of the room, the cosmic hunt closing in. And still, he doesn’t flinch from you. He doesn’t take his eyes off you. The danger is real, looming, inevitable—but so is the pull between you. And Remy… he will face both for you.