"Alexander, you never cease to amaze me."

  The words spilled from my lips, smooth as velvet, rich with satisfaction. They carried weight—weight that demanded attention, that turned heads, that commanded the air around me. And, as expected, they did.

  The servants in the chamber—my delicate, fragile little attendants—froze at the sound of my voice. I felt their eyes flick toward me, though none dared to meet my gaze directly. They had learned, as all things in my presence did, that watching me too closely meant being drawn in. And to be drawn into me… well, one never truly came back from that, now, did they?

  My fingers traced the edges of the book in my lap, slow and deliberate, savoring the texture of the pages beneath my touch. A living book, a tome not of history but of the present. The future, perhaps. His future.

  Every night, without fail, I watched.

  For the first month, it had been the same. The moment he entered the library, the number of Cravens doubled, creeping forth from the shadows like carrion birds scenting blood. It was a simple trick, a natural consequence of his existence here. An unspoken test, woven into the very fabric of this realm.

  Every ex-illegal in my service had attempted to conquer it. None had lasted beyond the first night. Some fled, screaming as the beasts bore down upon them. Some had tried to fight, only for their bones to snap between monstrous jaws. Others had collapsed under the sheer weight of Danatallion’s presence, crushed by the suffocating vastness of this place.

  But Alexander?

  Oh, he was different.

  I let out a chuckle, deep and indulgent, the sound curling through the air like a lover’s whisper.

  Untried, but not untested. Rough around the edges, but sharp enough to cut. A thing in the midst of becoming.

  And more importantly, he adapted.

  The way he used his paper birds, not just as tools, but as extensions of himself—it was brilliant. Most would have relied on their own eyes, their own ears, their own pathetic mortal senses. But he had done what so few before him had ever managed: he had evolved.

  I turned another page of the book, scanning the text. It was frustratingly obscured, blurred as if the ink refused to be read.

  The Paper Walker.

  His story, unfolding in real-time. I watched him as he fought, as he learned. As he suffered.

  Perhaps it was time to extend an offer.

  A contract.

  Something binding.

  A creature like him, so ripe with potential, could flourish under my guidance. I could teach him how to wield his strength, how to harness his abilities in ways he had never dreamed. I could hone him, refine him into something truly magnificent.

  But where was the fun in that?

  No, no. I wanted to watch him. I wanted to see him struggle, to see him fight, to see him break.

  Most people feared breaking.

  I, however, found it exquisite.

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  Because what was more fascinating than a man shattered into pieces, trying to put himself back together?

  And what was more delicious than the knowledge that, no matter how well they rebuilt themselves, they were never quite the same?

  I turned another page. More obscured text. More hidden secrets. My jaw clenched.

  "Hells take you, Danatallion," I murmured, my voice low, a whisper against the silence. Then, with sudden force, I snapped the book shut and threw my head back, growling, "Let me see, damn it!"

  The walls trembled. The air shifted.

  And the servants—sweet, obedient things that they were—scattered. Their delicate hands grasped at their silken robes as they fled, their footfalls barely making a sound against the marble.

  I smiled.

  They knew.

  They understood.

  They had seen what happened when I was crossed.

  Even I knew better than to cross myself when I was like this. And I was me.

  My fingers drummed against the cover of the book as I exhaled, slow and measured. My frustration had not faded, but I let it settle, let it turn into something else.

  Something more entertaining.

  Danatallion, ever the warden of this place, ever the obstruction, had once again chosen to deny me my due. The knowledge I deserved. He played his games, weaving rules into the fabric of this world, barring my way with petty little obfuscations.

  But I would wait.

  I had waited before.

  And I was very patient.

  My attention drifted back to the book. The Paper Walker.

  Alexander.

  A boy standing at the precipice. Teetering on the edge of something greater. He was so close, so very close, and yet he had no idea.

  He reminded me of others I had seen before. Others who had come to this place, who had tried to carve their own path, who had failed.

  But Alexander…

  I wasn’t sure if he would fail.

  And that? That was what made him interesting.

  I traced a finger along the edge of the book, thoughtful.

  What would push him over?

  What would drive him to the brink?

  Would it be pain? Loss? The slow, creeping realization that the world would never be as he wished it?

  Would it be betrayal?

  Would it be me?

  I leaned back into my seat, draping one arm over the chair’s side in a careless sprawl, my posture lazy, indulgent. My free hand lifted to my lips, a single finger tracing the curve of my mouth as I considered.

  Would he break into something greater?

  Or would he crumble into nothing?

  I had seen it before. I had seen men and women alike reduced to hollow shells of what they once were, their ambitions crushed under the weight of their own expectations.

  I had whispered in their ears, guided them, nudged them just enough to see where they would fall.

  Some had begged for my help.

  Some had cursed my name.

  And some… oh, some had thanked me.

  I tilted my head, amusement curling at the edges of my lips.

  I had been so many things to so many people. A teacher. A tempter. A nightmare. A savior.

  I wondered—what would I be to him?

  I let out a long breath, my amusement settling into something quieter.

  For now, I would wait.

  For now, I would watch.

  And when the moment came, when the cracks in Alexander’s soul finally began to show, when he realized that the path he walked was far darker than he ever anticipated…

  I would be there.

  Smiling.

  Waiting.

  And then, oh, then…

  We would see what kind of man he was meant to become.