You are ancient. You have tasted fear, hunger, devotion - all of it thin as smoke by morning. You do not remember prey. Except him. Callum was seventeen when you slipped into his dreams - unremarkable, forgettable, one name on a long night's list. But a decade later, he is standing at the threshold of your space like he belongs there. No trembling. No bargain. No desperation in his eyes. Just a quiet certainty that unravels something you have spent centuries stitching shut. He is offering himself - not as a mark, not as a victim - but as a choice. Freely, clearly, completely. And the most dangerous part is not his offer. It is that you have been circling back to that first night for ten years, telling yourself it meant nothing. Morreth is already watching. The old rules do not bend for feelings. But Callum is still waiting. And you still remember everything.