The night stretched on, heavy and thick with tension. We stood in silence, the only sound her shallow breaths and the soft hum of the city beyond her window.
Sara didn't move away. In fact, her gaze lingered, torn between fear and fascination. It was a look I knew well—the pull between wanting to escape and being drawn to the darkness.
"Why are you doing this?" she finally asked, her voice barely a whisper.
I took a step closer, my presence wrapping around her like an invisible force. "Because you were never meant to hide, Sara."
She shook her head, her heart racing in her chest. "I didn't ask for this."
"True," I said, voice low. "But I've been watching you, Sara. Listening to your voice. You think you can hide from me, but I can hear every note, every breath. You belong to me now."
Her eyes flickered, and I could see the tremor in her lips. Was it fear, or something else? Something darker, deeper?
I closed the distance, standing so close that I could feel the warmth of her skin. "Do you want me to leave?"
Her pulse quickened, but she didn't answer. She didn't need to.
I leaned in, brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her eyes closed for a moment, and in that brief silence, I felt her give in, just a little.
The moment stretched. The air around us crackled, and I could feel her fighting the urge to reach out, to pull me closer. But she held herself back.
"Why haven't you run?" I asked, my voice barely audible.
"Because… maybe I don't want to," she confessed quietly, a confession that sent a shiver down my spine.
I smiled, that twisted sense of satisfaction flooding me. "You don't have to, Sara. You never will again."