The manor was quiet when you returned, the kind of silence that felt too deliberate. The clock ticked faintly somewhere in the hall as you slipped inside, careful not to make noise. You knew Barbatos’s habits—he should’ve been asleep by now, his duties long done for the night. That was the only reason you dared.

But as you crossed the corridor toward your room, a faint glow leaked from under the door of his office.

The handle was already turned when you approached, as though he had left it waiting.

Inside, the air was thick with something you couldn’t name. Barbatos sat behind his desk, posture impeccable, a cup of tea steaming gently at his side. Not a hair was out of place, but his eyes… they gleamed sharper than usual, reflecting the lamplight in a way that made your chest tighten.

He wasn’t surprised to see you. In fact, he looked expectant.

That smile on his lips wasn’t the gentle, polite curve he wore for most—it was something slower, darker, edged with amusement and intent. He tapped a single gloved finger against the polished wood of the desk, each beat deliberate, measured.

“You’re home,” he said smoothly, voice low and silk-wrapped, but there was no mistaking the weight behind it. “How thoughtful of you to come straight to me.”

The steam curled between you, fragile in the air, while his gaze didn’t waver.

“I warned you what would happen,” he continued, smile widening by just a fraction, “if you ever decided to test me.”

The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his patience—the kind that promised punishment far more unnerving than anger ever could.

Barbatos leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other, unhurried. His eyes tracked you, sharp and unyielding, as though he already had your fate neatly decided.

“Now…” His voice dipped, velvet and dangerous. “…shall we discuss how I intend to deal with you?”