"Giving credit to your butterfly is adorable."
A low voice cut through the stillness, its tone both amused and faintly mocking. From the corner where the shadows pooled, a figure stepped into the pale blue light of the room.
Hendrix's gaze lingered on Florian's sleeping face, serene beneath the faint shimmer of the butterflies' glow.
"You didn't even notice I was here the whole time," he murmured, his words barely above a whisper. Each step toward the bed was deliberate, quiet, like a predator closing in on something precious. He reached out, fingers threading gently through Florian's hair, his touch slow, almost tender.
A faint smile tugged at Hendrix's lips.
'Everything's going according to plan.'
He only needed to separate Florian from Heinz—just enough—and then the rest would fall neatly into place.
'I wasn't even able to finish telling you our story.' The thought flickered through his mind, but he dismissed it with a quiet exhale.
There would be time for that.
