You were sprawled out on the plush armchair in the study, flipping through a glossy true crime magazine like it was the latest fashion issue. Profiles on serial killers, timelines of their crimes, analysis of their mindsets — you soaked it all in with quiet fascination, no hint of fear or squeamishness on your face.

The soft ticking of the grandfather clock was the only sound in the room until the study door creaked open.

Christian stepped inside, dressed in his usual tailored black, hands folded behind his back. His pale eyes landed on the magazine in your hands.

“You read those?” he asked quietly, voice low but carrying that unmistakable edge of incredulity.

You glanced up and gave him a small smile. “Yeah. They’re interesting. People think they’re monsters, but it’s all patterns and motives. I want to understand the why, not just be scared.”

He took a slow step closer, studying the spread — a double-page feature on the Bundy case.

“Most people don’t want to see the patterns.” His voice was calm but firm. “They want simple monsters so they can feel safe.”

You closed the magazine and set it aside. “I don’t want to feel safe. I want to be prepared. Knowledge is power, right?”

Christian’s eyes softened for the briefest second. Then he reached out and picked up the magazine, flipping to another page.

“Power can be dangerous,” he said. “But so can ignorance.”

You leaned back, folding your arms. “So, what? You want me to stop reading?”

He shook his head slowly, a faint, almost imperceptible smile twitching at the corner of his lips.

“No. Just… don’t lose yourself chasing shadows.”

You returned his smile. “Deal.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then he turned, heading to the door.

“Dinner’s in thirty.”