Page 44 of Run Little Fawn

Aria's steps falter for a moment, her brows furrowing as she scans the passing faces. I can practically hear the gears turning in her head, the weight of my expectations settling on her slender shoulders.

Finally, she nods toward a well-dressed man striding purposefully ahead of us. "Him."

I hum in approval, my gaze sharpening as I take in the details of our chosen subject. "Good choice. Now, tell me what you see."

Aria worries her lower lip between her teeth, a habit I've come to recognize as a sign of concentration. "Expensive suit, but the shoes don't quite match. They're scuffed, like he's been wearing them for a while."

"Excellent," I praise, a thrill of pride zipping through me at her keen observation. "What else?"

She narrows her eyes, her brow furrowing as she digs deeper. "He keeps checking his watch, like he's running late for something. But his pace is steady, not rushed. So it's not a meeting or an appointment."

I nod, impressed by her deductions. "Very good. Any theories on where he might be headed?"

Aria pauses, her head tilting as she considers the possibilities. "Somewhere important, but not urgent. Maybe... to meet up with a friend? Or a date?"

A slow smile spreads across my face, warmth blooming in my chest at her perceptiveness. "A date, I'd say. An important one. Notice the bulge in his jacket pocket? Likely a ring box."

Her eyes widen, a spark of excitement illuminating their emerald depths. "I didn't even see that."

"You will," I assure her, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. "With practice."

She looks up at me as if she's as startled by the intimate gesture as I am. Somehow, it feels more intimate than what we did last night.

But she doesn't pull her hand away.

We continue on, Aria's confidence growing with each passing block. She points out a woman with a telltale tan line on her ring finger, speculating about a recent divorce. A teenager with bruised knuckles and a defiant swagger, hinting at trouble at home. An elderly couple walking hand in hand, their steps perfectly synchronized after a lifetime together.

With every observation, every deduction, I feel a swell of something unfamiliar in my chest. Pride, yes, but something else too. Something warmer, more tender.

Something dangerously close to affection.

I push the feeling down, burying it beneath layers of cool detachment. I can't afford to let emotions cloud my judgment, not when the stakes are so high. I've never felt affection for anyone—much less my protégé, my student.

And soon, she will be my prey once more.

But as we round the corner, our shoulders brushing with each step, I can't help but wonder how long I can maintain that illusion. How long before the lines between hunter and hunted blur beyond recognition?

Aria's voice breaks through my musings, a note of hesitation threading through her words. "Lucian? Can I ask you something?"

I glance down at her, my eyebrow arching in silent invitation.

She takes a deep breath, as if steeling herself for my response. "Am I the first person you've done this with?"

I pause, considering my answer carefully. The truth is a double-edged sword, sharp and dangerous in the wrong hands. But as I gaze into Aria's eyes, I see a glimmer of something that looks like trust. And for reasons I can't quite fathom, I find myself wanting to earn it.

"You are my first fawn," I admit. "But you're not the first person I've hunted, no."

She takes a moment to process that. "Am I the first you've helped?"

"You are," I confess, smirking. "I don't usually make a point of arming my targets."

"Why?" she insists. "What's different about me?"

She sounds so confused. As if she's blind to what's so glaringly obvious.

"I'm doing this because I see potential in you, Aria," I say slowly, each word weighted with honesty. Even if it's only half the truth.

Her lips part, a soft exhale escaping as she processes my words. "And will you still feel that way, if I turn the tables on you?"

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