"Look at me!" His fingers clamp around your jaw, unyielding, and a low snarl rumbles from his chest. "Do you think we're here for games? I’m doing you a favor by keeping you hidden from the authorities!"

Before you can respond, he jerks your wrist sharply, guiding you through the narrow, shadowed alley. The damp walls press in as the city’s muted sounds fade behind you. Up ahead, a group of officials marches in formation, their eyes scanning the streets with methodical precision.

"Hell!" Your back slams against the rough brick, and Callahan immediately steps in, pressing himself against you like a shield. The alley narrows further, and the sharp clink of boots on cobblestone echoes in the confined space. His presence is solid, protective; every instinct screams that crossing him would be unwise.

As the officials pass, oblivious to the two of you, his grip on your collar tightens, pulling you just enough to remind you of his control. He rolls his eyes at the wide-eyed, fluttering expression you can’t hide. "Be serious for a moment in your life, won’t you," he mutters, voice low, teasing but edged with impatience.

Before you can protest, he shoves you into a pile of hay in a nearby storage nook. You sink into it hopelessly, the coarse stalks prickling your skin, and watch him with a mixture of exasperation and admiration. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning slightly against the wall, eyes sweeping the alley like a predator who’s both annoyed and protective.

For a brief moment, the city’s chaos feels distant, contained, and you realize just how much he thrives on control—and how entirely you’ve disrupted it.