Damien Vale
---
The library smelled like dust and worn paper—quiet, sacred. Damien waited until the room had thinned out, until only a few tired students remained tucked behind their laptops and coffee-stained notebooks.
Elena sat in the far corner, her face lit by the pale glow of her laptop screen. Her hoodie was off today. Her hair was up, loose tendrils framing her face. Her brow furrowed slightly as she read.
She didn't notice him at first. He didn't move.
He watched her fingers hover above the keyboard before falling still. She was thinking. Processing.
It wasn't until he reached the bookshelf beside her—deliberately, with the same title she had glanced at a week ago—that she turned.
Their eyes met.
He didn't smile.
Neither did she.
"Is that one any good?" he asked, nodding toward the book by her hand.
His voice was soft. Measured. Just enough charm to mask the calculation.
She blinked. A slight frown. "Haven't decided yet."
Her voice surprised him—clear, cool, but not cold. There was a subtle edge beneath it. Like she was used to being approached, and used to disappointment.
"You'll know by page thirty-seven," he said. "If it hooks you by then, it's worth finishing."
Elena raised a brow. "That oddly specific advice or personal rule?"
He tilted his head. "Both."
She studied him for a breath longer than necessary. Not warming to him—but not walking away either. That was enough.
She returned to her screen.
But she didn't tell him to leave.
Damien stood there for a few seconds longer, taking in the sound of her typing, the shape of her presence in the quiet.
Then he walked away. Slowly.
Because obsession wasn't about rushing.
It was about knowing the exact moment to touch the wire…
before the spark ever came.
---