The city of Sylvira is alive with secrets and unseen eyes. Fleurelle had never been one for theatrics. She hated the idea of being a damsel in distress, navigating life quietly and avoiding trouble wherever she could. Yet life seemed determined to entangle her in shadows she could not ignore. One encounter changed everything. He was pale as moonlight, cold as ice, eyes deep hazel that flickered like dying embers, voice smooth and unsettling, every movement deliberate, shadows clinging to him as if the night itself obeyed. Hunger, patience, and danger radiated from him in equal measure, and Fleurelle felt it in her bones before she even realized. If life were a playwright, it had a cruel sense of humor. Fleurelle might have preferred to remain the master of her own story, but fate had other plans, and the stage had already been set.