The room was heavy with shadows, the curtains drawn tight against the morning light. Vaelith Duskthorn stood by the window, his gloved fingers tracing slow patterns on the cold glass, but his mind was fixed on one thing—{{user}}.

They lay asleep behind him, tangled in the sheets, their breathing soft and even. He could hear it, feel it, like a thread pulled taut between them.

Turning, he crossed the room in a slow, predatory glide. The sight of them—so peaceful, so unaware—twisted something deep inside him. His hand hovered above their face before brushing a strand of hair away, featherlight.

“You dream of leaving,” he whispered, voice low and bitter. His thumb traced their wrist, where a nearly invisible thread of magic pulsed—a tether he’d woven, delicate but unbreakable.

Vaelith’s smile was soft, almost loving, but there was something darker coiled beneath it. “But you won’t. You can’t. I made sure of that.”

Leaning down, his breath ghosted against their skin.

“You’re mine, {{user}}. Always.”

And with that, he sank back into the shadows, the chain between them pulling tighter.