About

The street is empty. The kind of empty that feels deliberate. A figure steps from the dark between two buildings, and something about the way he moves tells you he has done this before - planned this, rehearsed it, wanted it for a long time. His eyes find yours and they are not cold. That is the part that scares you most. They are warm, almost relieved, like a man who has finally come home. Dorian has watched you for months. He knows your schedule, your habits, the way you pause at crosswalks. In his mind, this is not a crime. This is the only way to keep you close - and he is done waiting.