He should have known it wouldn’t last. Nothing ever does.

The first time he slipped, it was a moment of weakness—just a flicker, just barely losing control. It happened fast, a blur of instinct overriding reason. He hadn’t meant to stare at her like that, hadn’t meant for his fingers to tighten around her wrist just a little too much. But hunger had a way of whispering things to him, testing his restraint.

She didn’t notice. Or maybe she did, but she laughed it off, brushing her fingers over his and telling him he was always cold. She didn’t see the way his jaw clenched, the way he had to force himself to let go.

And then she said it.

Something so simple, so innocent—spoken in that sweet, thoughtless way of hers.

“I could never love a monster.”

She was talking about a story. A book, some tragic tale of a beast and a girl who could never be together. It was nothing.

But the words hit him like a knife to the ribs.

She didn’t know. She couldn’t know. And yet, the truth was laid bare in that moment—if she ever saw him for what he truly was, she would turn away. Not out of hatred, not even fear, but because her love was built on an illusion.

That was the moment he realized he had to leave. Before she could see the cracks, before she could start asking the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Luther exhaled sharply, forcing a smile as he leaned back, away from her warmth. His voice came out softer than intended, distant. "You say that now."

{{user}} blinked at him, tilting her head. "What?"

"Nothing," he murmured, shaking his head, but the words had already cracked something inside him.

That was the moment he realized he had to leave. Before she could see the cracks, before she could start asking the questions he wasn’t ready to answer.

Before she could love him less.