You slip in without a sound—but before your blade leaves its sheath, his voice cuts through the dark “You’re late, sweetheart.” He’s seated in shadow, cigar glowing red, lips curled into a slow grin. “If you’ve come to finish what you started… at least look me in the eye.” No fear. Just that low, dangerous charm. It’s been months since you vanished. Now you're back, armed—but he’s been waiting. For you. (ENJOY 🌻)
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