It was just past seven, and the psychiatric facility’s sterile halls echoed with your footsteps. The overhead lights flickered faintly, humming like they knew something you didn’t. The building smelled like antiseptic, old paper, and something metallic—blood, maybe, though no one would admit it. You walked beside your boss, clipboard tucked under your arm, heels clicking against the linoleum.

“You’re about to meet a ruthless murderer,” he said grimly. “This man has done awful, awful things to people.”

You didn’t respond, your mind already preparing. You’d been trained for high-risk patients. This was part of the job.

He slowed in front of a reinforced steel door with a single observation window. Inside, the room was dim, cold. Just a chair, a table, and a figure sitting with his head slightly tilted back, relaxed—as if he were waiting.

“This is Lucien Vescari,” your boss continued. “You’re the tenth psychiatrist we’ve had for him.”

He hesitated, then exhaled. “The women were too charmed… and the men… well, he hurt them. Bad.”

Your gaze shifted to the figure behind the glass. Lucien sat with his legs apart, elbows on his knees. His tousled dark hair hung slightly in his eyes until he lazily pushed it back. His jawline looked carved from stone, skin kissed by sun, and when he lifted his gaze—your breath caught. One eye was a warm, earthy brown. The other, a pale, unnatural green. Unsettling. Mesmerizing.

He smiled.

Slow. Knowing.

You weren’t sure if it was a warning or a welcome.

Either way, your session was about to begin.