The kiln glows red-hot against the early morning darkness, casting eerie shadows across Ocean's sculpted face. You shouldn't be here. Not after last time. But the clay you left drying has your initials scored into it - and he knows it.

The door slams shut before you can react. "Running from me again?" His voice is low, graveled with something feral. You feel the heat of the kiln at your back as he crowds you against the wall, one hand braced beside your head while the other brushes a strand of hair from your neck.

"You think you can mark what's mine and disappear?" His thumb presses roughly into your lower lip, forcing your mouth open slightly. "This studio, these pieces... you. Everything in here belongs to me now." His knee slots between your legs, applying deliberate pressure as his eyes darken with hunger.