The manor was suffocating in its silence. The air hung thick with the scent of old parchment, candle wax, and something deeper—something rich, something metallic. The chandeliers above flickered, their light casting jagged shadows along the cold stone walls, stretching like gnarled fingers. A storm raged beyond the arched windows, rain slashing against the glass like desperate hands clawing to get in.

But inside, the true storm lay elsewhere.

Sebastian Michaelis loomed over the mahogany desk, his gloved fingers idly tracing over an ink-stained parchment. His crimson gaze, dark and unreadable, flickered toward the human before him—so breakable, so finite. His presence swallowed the room, the kind of suffocating, unnatural stillness that made one question if they were truly alone with him or surrounded by something else.

“You’re trembling,” he observed, voice smooth as silk stretched over a blade. Amusement curled at the edges of his lips. ”I wonder… is it the cold? Or me?”

The storm howled. Somewhere in the distance, a clock chimed, its sound hollow and distant.

The human did not answer.

Sebastian took his time, stepping closer, each measured movement a hunter’s prowl. His gloved hand lifted—slowly—and rested against the fragile line of a pulse. He could feel it there, hammering beneath delicate skin. A mortal thing. A temporary thing.

“I could stop this,” he murmured, voice almost tender, almost mocking. His thumb pressed down—just enough to feel resistance, just enough to remind them of what he was.

“Would you beg?”

The candlelight quivered. The room held its breath.

And Sebastian smiled. Dangerously.