Part 1 – The Passenger Seat
He didn't knock.
Dorian just stood there in the rain, face shadowed, coat dripping, hand still resting against the glass like he owned the car—like he owned her.
Amelia didn't move.
The engine was still running. Her foot hovered over the gas. She could've hit it. She could've sped off, left him there in the downpour like a ghost she never believed in.
But she didn't.
She rolled the window down halfway, rain slicing in sideways like knives.
"How did you find me?" she asked.
Dorian tilted his head, eyes unreadable. "You left your window open."
She froze.
Her apartment window.
He smiled, but it wasn't kind. It was curious. A cat watching a wounded bird twitch.
"You're shaking," he said.
"You're trespassing," she snapped.
He didn't flinch. Instead, he walked around the car, slow and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. She thought about locking the passenger door—but didn't. She wanted to see what he would do.
He opened it and got in.
The car dipped under his weight. Rainwater soaked into the leather. He smelled like heat and thunder, like something that belonged to the storm. And he didn't speak right away. Just turned and looked at her.
"What did Calder tell you?" he asked.
She flinched.
"I don't know anyone named Calder."
He smiled again. Wider this time. "That's not a no."
Amelia's hands tightened on the steering wheel. "Why do I have a mark on my shoulder, Dorian?"
He didn't answer.
She turned to him. "You bit me."
His eyes flicked to her neck, then down—slow, devouring.
"You let me."
She felt that. In her spine. Her thighs. Her teeth.
"You marked me."
"I touched something inside you," he said, voice low. "And it responded."
A pause.
"Not everything inside you belongs to you, Amelia."
Her breath caught.
She wanted to scream at him. Hit him. Pull over and run. But instead, she asked, barely above a whisper:
"What is Project Ebony?"
The look on his face shifted. Just a flicker. The smile faded. His jaw tightened like something was waking beneath it.
"You weren't supposed to see that file."
"And yet here we are."
He reached into his coat.
She didn't move. Didn't breathe.
He pulled out a black velvet box. Small. Perfect. Like a ring box.
He set it in the space between them.
"Open it," he said.
She stared at it. "No."
"Then I will."
He flipped it open himself.
Inside wasn't a ring.
It was a key.
And wrapped around the key was a single strand of hair...hers.
Clean. Curled like a question mark. Bound to the metal with a red silk thread.
Amelia's stomach turned.
"What is this?"
"A promise," Dorian said. "Or a warning. Depends on what door you open next."