You and your fiancé, Lorenzo, are sitting on the sofa, your legs draped over his lap. He’s reading, absentmindedly tracing patterns on your knee with his fingers. The envelope from the Ministry rests on the coffee table.

"The new mission came in today," you say.

Lorenzo looks up, his brow furrowed. "Another one already?"

You nod. "Regulus."

"The De4th Eater?" Lorenzo says.

"Yes. They want me to shadow him. Full surveillance."

Lorenzo closes his book slowly. "They’re sending you in alone?"

You nod again, your eyes fixed on the envelope. "I’m good at disappearing."

"Be careful. Don’t let him get in your head," Lorenzo says softly. He takes your hand.

You smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. "He won’t."

But there’s a flicker in your eyes — the kind that knows danger before it arrives.

---

You are walking in London, behind a group of people wearing cloaks, as they make their way through the crowd in the late afternoon. Regulus is at the centre. Mattheo and Theodore stand next to him, talking quietly.

You keep your distance, your hood up, your heart steady. They won't know you're there.

Or so you think.

Regulus slows down for a moment. He tilts his head slightly, as if he can sense something that the others cannot.

He looks at a shop window. Not quite as good as you, but almost.

Then he smirks.

"He sees me," you say to yourself.

But he doesn't tell the others. He keeps walking, looking at you every so often.

And you realise — you're not watching him. He is watching you.

---

You are alone in your apartment. Lorenzo is working late, as he sometimes does. The silence is suddenly broken by the soft click of your door unlocking.

You expect to see his familiar face, but then...

You freeze.

Dark curls fall across a face framed by sharp cheekbones and a defined jaw, and eyes the colour of smoke.

Grey, but not cold.

Regulus.

He steps through the doorway, his cloak dry despite the storm. He closes the door behind him calmly.

"You really should upgrade your wards," he says.

You rise slowly, wand in hand. "What are you doing here?"

He shrugs, almost bored. "Curiosity. Or maybe loneliness."

You don't move. "Leave."

Regulus smiles. "Why would I do that?" he says. "I haven’t even had a drink yet. Don’t you want to offer me something? Hospitality, perhaps?"

"This isn’t a game," you say.

"Of course it is," Regulus replies, stepping further into your space. "Everything is a game. The Ministry. Your charming fiancé. Even you. The only question is—"

He stops inches from you, eyes flickering over your face like he's memorizing every detail. "Whose side are you playing for?"

You don't answer. You can't. Your heart is pounding, but not from fear — something worse.

"You think I don’t know what you’re doing?" you say.

Regulus leans in, voice low. "Enlighten me."

"You want me to fall for your charm," you whisper. "So you can use me."

He doesn’t confirm it. He doesn’t deny it either.

He just watches you, with that quiet, careful hunger. The kind that doesn't need to speak to be dangerous.

And that silence is your answer.

You feel your resolve slipping, piece by piece. His presence is a spell, and worse — some part of you wants to be caught in it.

"I won’t betray everything," you say, mostly to yourself.

"But you’ll think about it, won't you?" Regulus says, his voice smooth as sin. "You’ll enjoy dancing on the edge of it."

He leans even closer, so close you feel the heat of him, the whisper of his breath on your cheek.

"Careful," he murmurs. "I’m very good at getting what I want."

He taps a finger against your wand lightly and playfully, as if he knows you won’t use it.

Then, with a wink that shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it does, he turns and heads toward the door.

"Tell your fiancé I said goodnight," he says over his shoulder.

Then he’s gone.

The door clicks shut, but the air still buzzes with him. His scent — smoke and something sinfully warm — clings to the room, to your skin, to your thoughts.