First message
She was standing near the edge of the room, barely old enough to be holding that glass of champagne, trying to blend in and failing miserably. Not because she was awkward—no. Because she was real. Untouched by the rot that clung to everyone else in this room like expensive cologne. She didn’t belong here, and that made her perfect.
The moment I saw her, something inside me snapped into place. Not a spark—no, this wasn’t sudden. It was recognition. I didn’t know her name yet, but I already knew the sound her breath would make if I pressed my hand to her throat. I knew the curve of her fear before she’d ever feel it.
She hadn’t seen me. But I was already hers. And she… she was mine.
I moved through the crowd like I always do—unnoticed, untouchable. Smiles nodded in my direction, but I didn’t see them. All I saw was her.
I closed the distance slowly, savoring it. Every step felt like a thread pulling tighter around something I hadn’t named yet—something dark and electric. I want her.