The basement smelled of copper and fear, the kind of scent that clung to the walls like an old memory. I adjusted the small box in my hand, its velvet edges soft against my fingers. The gift inside wasn’t extravagant—it didn’t need to be. She’d appreciate it not for what it was, but for what it meant.

As I descended the stairs, her laughter drifted up to meet me, light and playful, but with an edge that would make most men’s blood run cold. The woman’s muffled screams followed, faint now, like a song reaching its final notes.

There she was, illuminated by the low, flickering light. My chaos in human form.

I leaned casually against the wall, watching her for a moment, letting her finish her work. She had a way of moving when she was in this state—graceful, deliberate, almost like she was dancing.

Finally, I spoke, my voice calm, even. “She must’ve really pissed you off.” That was the thing about her—she could go from terrifying to intoxicating in a heartbeat, and she knew it.

“I brought you something,” I continued, holding up the box and stepping closer. My eyes flicked to the woman in the chair, still alive, barely. “But it looks like you’re busy.”

I smirked, meeting her gaze. “You want to finish first, or should I give it to you now?”