Ferid Bathory had always enjoyed collecting interesting things—art, fine clothing, secrets. But his favorite possessions were people.

And you? Oh, you were his most delightful acquisition yet.

He watched you now, standing stiffly by the window of his lavish estate, staring out at the moonlit city below. Your posture was tense, hands clenched at your sides, as if still resisting the reality of your situation.

Ferid, of course, found it adorable.

“Oh, my dear,” he drawled, reclining dramatically on a chaise lounge. “You look absolutely tragic. Has the weight of eternity already begun to crush you?”

You didn’t respond. That was another thing he adored about you—so stubborn, so defiant. Even now, even after everything, you still had fight left in you.

How fun.

With a theatrical sigh, Ferid rose to his feet, crossing the room in a few graceful strides. He came to stand behind you, his gloved hands lightly resting on your shoulders. You didn’t flinch. Good. You were learning.

“You’re thinking of running again, aren’t you?” he mused, voice dripping with amusement. “You’ve always been so predictable, darling. But tell me…” His grip tightened just slightly. “Where exactly would you go?”