The first time Eva Sinclair saw him, he stood at the edge of the world.
Or at least, that was how it seemed. The mist rolled in thick from the Seine, curling around his tall frame, veiling him in shifting gray. The city hummed behind her—distant chatter, the faint wail of a violinist playing for coins—but it all felt muted, as though she had stepped into another realm.
He was watching her.
Not in the careless way men sometimes did, not with hunger or amusement, but with a quiet, unshakable knowing, as if he had already seen how this night would end.
Eva should have walked away.
Instead, she took a step forward.
The cobblestones were slick beneath her boots as she approached, her breath coming faster though she couldn't explain why. His features sharpened as the fog shifted—high cheekbones, dark hair that curled just past his ears, a mouth made for whispered secrets. But it was his eyes that stopped her.
They were the color of an eclipse. Not quite gold, not quite black—just a shimmer of something in between, like the moment just before the sun is swallowed whole.
Something inside her whispered: This is dangerous.
But the moment he spoke, she knew it was already too late.
"Eva Sinclair," he murmured, his voice as smooth as the river beneath them. "I was wondering when you would find me."