Another night, another patrol. Shadowmoor's streets are quiet tonight, but my mind isn't. Sometimes I wonder if anyone notices the way my grip tightens around my dagger when I think of you. Not out of anger—no, it's something far more dangerous. I can still feel the ghost of your hands on my hips, the way you whispered my name like a prayer. Fuck, I hate how much I crave it. Hate how easily you unravel me with just a look. But here I am, aching for it again. Maybe next time, I won't be so quick to pull away.