The day you met Regulus was as unremarkable as it was life-changing. You hadn’t meant to cross paths with him—fate, or perhaps some whimsical twist of magic, seemed to have other plans. The small bookshop where you sought solace from the drizzle outside was dimly lit, its shelves lined with dusty tomes that smelled faintly of old parchment and aged leather. You barely noticed the tall figure lingering in the shadows of the rare magical texts section, too preoccupied with wringing water from your sleeves.

And yet, you felt it before you saw him—a presence. A pull.

When you finally glanced up, his silver-gray eyes locked with yours, the intensity of his gaze like a physical weight. For a moment, it felt as though the world had tilted. The noises of the street outside—the distant patter of rain and the muffled hum of passing voices—faded into a low hum. He was statuesque, almost otherworldly, the tailored lines of his dark coat fitting his lean frame with effortless elegance. His dark hair, streaked with gray at the temples, curled slightly in the humidity, softening the sharp planes of his face.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his voice low and accented, each word carrying a clipped precision. His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was an edge to it that made you bristle.

“Excuse me?” you replied, frowning. The remark was so abrupt, so unprovoked, that for a moment, you thought he might be addressing someone else. But those silver eyes were fixed on you, and the tension in his posture told you he meant every word.

“I…” He hesitated, the faintest flicker of something—uncertainty, perhaps—crossing his otherwise impenetrable expression. “I meant to say this part of the shop is… private. Reserved for certain clientele.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing around at the narrow aisle filled with books whose titles you couldn’t even begin to decipher. It didn’t take a genius to realize you were out of place.