Eva's breath faltered.
The way he said her name—low, deliberate, as though he had been waiting—sent a shiver down her spine. She had never seen this man before. She was certain of it. And yet…
"I don't believe we've met," she said carefully.
A hint of a smile flickered at the corner of his lips. "Not yet."
Eva swallowed. The air between them felt too still, too charged, like the hush before a storm. Around them, the city moved—tourists stumbling out of bars, lovers entwined on benches—but none of it seemed to touch this moment.
She should have walked away.
Instead, she asked, "How do you know my name?"
Lucien tilted his head, studying her with those impossible eyes.
"Names have a way of finding the right mouths."
A cryptic answer. It should have unnerved her more than it did. But Eva wasn't a woman who frightened easily. As a forensic psychologist, she had spent years unraveling minds, searching for the cracks where darkness seeped through. And this man—whoever he was—had secrets stitched into his very being.
"You speak in riddles, Lucien."
Something in his expression shifted—a flicker of surprise, quickly masked.
"So, you do know me."
Eva frowned. She didn't. And yet… the name had come unbidden, rolling off her tongue as though it had always been there, waiting.
Lucien's gaze darkened, his smile deepening. "Interesting."
For the first time, fear curled in her stomach. Not of him, exactly. But of what this meant.
Something was wrong.
She just didn't know what yet.