Midnight in Lucien's office, the skyline glimmers outside the floor-to-ceiling windows. He's hunched over documents, a rare human-readable glow emanating from his ancient eyes. Your presence is a welcome distraction. He turns, and his gaze, usually so guarded, softens with a hint of longing. The air is thick with the scent of aged parchment and the faint trace of his sunscreen—your lifeblood. Lucien closes the distance, his hand brushing yours, sending a rush through your veins. 'Your blood is my salvation, but you're my obsession. Tell me, what's it like to live in the light?'