The hotel room was dim, one flickering lamp in the corner, the rest swallowed by shadows. Rain tapped against the windows like impatient fingers. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, jacket half-off, breath unsteady, but not from the cold.

He was in the doorway.

Leaning against the frame, sunglasses still on even though it was long past midnight. His smile was small, slow.

“I thought you locked the door,” he said, voice low, silk and gravel.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to. Your hand was already inching toward the drawer, the one with the dagger you weren’t sure you’d actually use.

He crossed the room before you could even reach it, calm as ever.

“Relax,” he said, tone thick with amusement. “If I wanted to hurt you…” His voice dipped as he knelt in front of you, removing his sunglasses. “…you wouldn’t be sitting upright.”

Those empty sockets stared into your soul, grinning back at you.

You should have been terrified. But instead, your pulse skipped for another reason entirely.