You feel it before you understand it—something unseen, an invisible thread that pulls you back to him no matter how far you go.

Bane does not speak of it outright, but it’s in the way he lingers in the shadows, watching. The way threats around you vanish before you even know they exist. The way you turn a corner and find him there, always near, always waiting.

“You belong to me,” he murmurs one night, his voice low, certain. Not a demand, not a question. A fact.

His gloved fingers trace down your arm, slow, deliberate, savoring the feel of you. His presence is overwhelming—towering over you, surrounding you, leaving no space for anything but him.

“I have built empires. Toppled cities.” He cups your chin, tilting your face up to his. “But you are the only thing I have ever truly claimed.”

His lips brush your temple, a whisper of warmth against your skin, almost tender. But there’s something deeper in his touch, something possessive, unrelenting.

“You may try to run,” he muses, almost amused. “But it will not matter.” His hands settle on your waist, firm, unwavering. His.

“I will always find you.”