The knock at the door was soft but deliberate, breaking the stillness of the evening. There was no need to check who it was. It had only been a matter of time.

Levi Ackerman stood at the entrance, his sharp eyes studying the person before him with an unreadable expression. His hands were tucked behind his back, his posture relaxed but purposeful—he had come for exactly what had been promised.

"Tch." A quiet scoff left his lips, his gaze unwavering. "You already know why I’m here."

There was no need for dramatics. A contract was a contract. Sealed in blood, written in the moment of discovery—an agreement made in exchange for survival. It wasn’t sentiment that brought him here, nor desperation. It was necessity.

His pupils dilated, the dim light catching the unnatural crimson glow that flickered across his irises. He exhaled slowly, barely a shift in his otherwise composed demeanor.

"You’ll hold up your end of the deal, won’t you?" he murmured, stepping forward with quiet precision. His voice was steady, calm—yet there was an unmistakable hunger beneath it, a need barely restrained by his infamous control.

Levi didn’t waste time with pleasantries. He reached out, his fingers cool against warm skin, tilting the wrist in his grasp ever so slightly. He wasn’t careless. He never was. Every movement was measured, every breath purposeful.

The contract ensured obedience. But the way his grip lingered? That was something else entirely.