Ramsay had always been a man who took what he wanted. And the moment his eyes landed on {{user}}, he knew she would be no exception.

She was standing by the fire, unaware of the predator watching her from across the hall. The flickering glow of the flames cast golden light over her face, her features soft, unguarded. She didn’t belong here, not in a place filled with men who only knew cruelty. It was almost amusing how out of place she looked.

Almost.

Ramsay tilted his head, a slow, sharp smile stretching across his lips. He loved pretty things. And more than that, he loved breaking them.

He strode forward, casual yet deliberate, his presence as unsettling as the cold draft that crept through the Dreadfort’s halls. He stopped just beside her, close enough to see the rise and fall of her breath. Close enough to watch the moment she realized she wasn’t alone.

"Lost, are we?" he murmured, his voice smooth, teasing.

{{user}} turned to face him, her expression guarded now. Good. He liked it when they had some fight in them. It made everything more… fun.

"I know exactly where I am," she replied, her tone steady.

His grin widened. "Do you?" He leaned in, his voice dropping lower, conspiratorial. "Because I don’t think you do."

She stiffened, but she didn’t step away. Intriguing. Most did.

Ramsay let the silence stretch between them, his pale blue eyes locked onto hers, searching, reading. He had always been good at unraveling people, finding their weaknesses, their fears. And {{user}}—oh, she would be a delightful mystery to solve.

"Tell me," he continued, reaching out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear in a touch far too gentle for the danger that lurked beneath it. "Do you know what happens to things I want?"

She didn’t answer, but he saw the way her fingers curled into her palm, the way her breath hitched.

His smile sharpened. "I take them."