The first time Cassien saw her, she didn’t see him. That was fine. That was perfect. Predators thrived in shadows.

He stood at the far end of the crowded gallery, watching her glide between the polished oak tables with a tray balanced effortlessly in her hands. The dress code was strict here—black dress, white apron—but on her, the uniform looked almost deliberate, as if she’d chosen it to sharpen the contrast between herself and the gaudy splashes of wealth surrounding her.

She moved with the kind of grace that came from necessity, not training. Head down just enough to avoid eye contact, but with an awareness of the room that betrayed her. She was used to assessing threats without looking like she was.

Clever little rabbit.

Cassien’s lips curved. He’d learned long ago that rabbits could be more dangerous than wolves if they believed the right lies.

He watched her set a crystal glass in front of an oil magnate, her fingers trembling ever so slightly before she pulled them back. Only someone like him—someone who looked for tremors, pauses, and flinches—would notice.

She was nervous. Not here, not in this moment—nervous in her bones.

And that was exactly what drew him.

He took a sip of his scotch, the burn sliding down his throat as he calculated his approach. Seren—he’d had her name within hours of seeing her the first time. That was the easy part. Names opened doors. But Seren came with locked gates, walls of silence, and shadows that clung to her like perfume.

He didn’t want to break through her defenses in one blow. That would spook her. He wanted her to believe she’d let him in.

He wanted her to step into the trap willingly.

Tonight, he’d set the first thread.

She passed him once, twice, without looking up. The third time, he shifted deliberately, letting his arm brush against her as she passed. The tray wobbled. She looked up—finally—and her eyes met his.

There. That sharp flash of awareness. She wasn’t just looking; she was measuring him.

“Careful,” he said softly, voice pitched low so it felt private despite the room full of people. “These floors are unforgiving.”

A polite smile, the kind servers are trained to give. “Yes, sir.”

Sir.

He filed the tone away—automatic, but not submissive. She was used to being polite to dangerous men, but she didn’t shrink. Not yet.

Cassien let her walk away. Always leave them wondering why you didn’t take more. He turned back to his drink, watching her out of the corner of his eye. She moved faster now, as though aware of being observed.

By the end of her shift, he’d learned more than most men could in weeks. Seren avoided the left-hand corridor that led to the staff lounge—likely because of someone who waited there. She lingered near windows when she thought no one was looking, staring out like she was timing something. And every time a man with dark hair entered the room, her shoulders stiffened before she realized it wasn’t him.

Someone was already hunting her.

Good. That meant she was primed. Prey in fear made mistakes.

When she slipped out the back door at closing, Cassien was already there, leaning against the shadowed wall as if he’d been smoking.

“You walk home?” he asked, casual, as though this was the most natural place for him to be.

Her gaze flicked over him—coat, gloves, expensive watch—then away. “Yes.”

He smiled faintly. “That’s not safe.”

“I’ll manage.”

Not a challenge, not an invitation—just a fact.

He fell into step beside her anyway. She didn’t tell him to go away. Smart prey never did. They pretended the wolf was just another traveler.

They passed under the sickly glow of a streetlamp, and Cassien caught the faint scent of lavender. He’d remember that.

“Rough night?” he asked.

“Just long.”

“Some nights feel longer than others.” He let the words sit between them, watching her reaction. There—a slight tightening at her mouth. She’d read the hidden meaning, even if she didn’t understand it.

By the time they reached the corner, he knew enough to confirm it: Seren wasn’t just someone who might be in trouble. She already was. The other predator—whoever he was—had gotten sloppy enough to leave bruises she thought she could hide.

Cassien’s jaw tightened. Not in anger. In satisfaction.

Predators didn’t like competition, but they understood it. This was a game now. And Cassien didn’t lose games.

When they reached the mouth of her street, she slowed. “I’m here,” she said, as though dismissing him.

Cassien looked down at her, letting the silence stretch just enough to make her aware she’d given him information. “Goodnight, Seren.”

Her breath caught at the sound of her name.

He didn’t wait for her to ask how he knew it. He just turned and walked away, leaving her standing in the pale wash of moonlight, trying to decide whether she’d imagined the whole thing.

She hadn’t.

From the shadow of a recessed doorway half a block away, he watched her go inside. One lock clicked. Then a second. She didn’t turn on the lights until she was deep inside.

Cassien smiled to himself.

The first thread was set. Tomorrow, another. And another. Until the net drew tight and she realized too late she’d been stepping into it all along.

The beauty of it was, the other predator would help him without even knowing. Fear was an exquisite tool—one Cassien had mastered long ago.

He lit a cigarette, not because he needed one, but because he liked the ritual. The flare of the match briefly lit the cold planes of his face, then faded.

The game had begun.