He has watched everyone come and go, but you are the first arrival his grey eyes refuse to leave.
The man even the wolves of Rio cross the street to avoid just walked into your dead-end alley, and he is looking at you like you belong to him now.
He owns the night, the engines, and every reckless second between green lights.
You climbed into the wrong car on a cold night. He's in no hurry to tell you.
Caught after hours in the forbidden archive by the heir who reads dead languages and rarer poisons.
