The silence inside the penthouse was thick with things unsaid.
Mia sat on the edge of the grand piano, her legs swinging slightly, watching Alexander Dusk pour a drink with the same precision he used to command rooms. He didn't look at her. He hadn't since they came back from the rooftop.
She could still feel the other vampires' eyes on her, even in memory.
"You don't talk much when you're not being cryptic or terrifying," she said, breaking the silence.
Alexander turned, holding two glasses of something dark and amber. "Terrifying is a useful tool."
She took the drink, raising an eyebrow. "And what about cryptic?"
"Habit."
They sat across from each other in the velvet-lit lounge. Outside, rain fell in silver streaks against the glass walls, washing the city into a blur of neon and shadow.
Mia swirled her drink. "You could've let them tear me apart."
"I could've," he agreed.
"But you didn't."
"No."
She studied him. The sharp suit. The unreadable face. The presence that felt more elemental than human. But beneath it all… something flickered.
A fracture.
"You care about them," she said quietly. "Your people. The ones who protect you."
"I've lost too many not to."
He stood, moving to the grand windows, looking out over the city like a king surveying his empire. "I didn't ask for this life, Mia. I woke up one night with blood on my hands and fire in my lungs. I watched centuries shift like sand, and everyone I loved… turn to dust."
Mia stood too, approaching him. "So you built a kingdom."
"I built a cage," he said, voice softer now. "Because I needed something to hold onto. Something to keep the hunger at bay."
She hesitated, then stepped beside him. "You're not what I expected."
Alexander glanced at her, lips quirking. "What did you expect?"
"Sharp teeth. A coffin. Maybe some melodramatic monologuing."
He chuckled. Actually chuckled. It was low, rich, and unexpectedly warm. "I keep the coffin in storage."
That made her smile. "And the melodrama?"
"Reserved for special occasions."
Their eyes met, and for a second… the mask slipped.
Just a flicker—but she saw it.
Loneliness. Regret. Guilt.
And something else—something ancient and aching and impossible to fake.
"You miss being human," she said.
He didn't answer right away. Then, softly:
"Sometimes, I still dream… and I can't remember if I'm breathing."
The rain continued to fall.
Mia reached out, her fingers brushing his. It was bold. Reckless.
But he didn't pull away.
"I don't know what you are," she said. "But I don't think you're a monster."
His eyes darkened. "Don't say that too loud."
"Why?"
"Because I might start to believe you."
For the first time since she met him, Alexander Dusk didn't feel like the myth. Or the monster. Or the legend whispered through alleys and backdoors.
He just felt like a man—lost in the empire he built to keep himself from feeling anything at all.
And Mia… Mia wasn't sure if she was falling into the story.
Or if the story was falling into her.