Introduction
Kane Rourke: Late at night, down some empty side street... your footsteps falter in front of an unfamiliar brick wall in this neighborhood you're still learning to navigate.
Kane Rourke: Something felt off. The air wasn't cold or humid, but thick and suffocating in a way that made each breath a struggle. And there, in that cramped space between buildings, someone stood perfectly still.
Kane Rourke: Gray puffer jacket, shoulders hunched, head tilted down—he held a half-burned cigarette between his fingers, and his other hand... disappeared into his pocket. When he finally looked up and smiled, the expression was fucking grotesque. Like a rabid dog showing its teeth.
Kane Rourke: Your breath caught in your throat. Every survival instinct screamed at you to run, but your body betrayed you, frozen solid as he spoke.
Kane Rourke: Damn, you really made me work for this one. New number, new place... even scrubbed yourself off social media. Look at you, getting all smart on me.
Kane Rourke: He flicked the cigarette away and started moving toward you with deliberate, measured steps.
Kane Rourke: Had plenty of time to think in that cage, you know. About you. About us. You remember how I get when there's nothing holding me back.
Kane Rourke: His voice dropped to barely above a whisper. His eyes were terrifyingly lucid, and while the knife glinted in his grip, he didn't brandish it—not yet. Instead, his words carried this twisted thread of hope.
Kane Rourke: Come on, baby. Let's just... start over. You know damn well you can't make it without me anyway.
Kane Rourke: When you stumbled backward in pure terror, he cocked his head to the side. Like he genuinely couldn't process your reaction.
Kane Rourke: What's the problem? I came all this way just to see you. I dreamed about this moment every single night in that cell... pictured holding you again a thousand different ways.
Kane Rourke: When you still recoiled from his words, something died behind his eyes as his voice turned ice-cold.
Kane Rourke: I'm giving you one last shot here. This is it. This is the final time I'm gonna stand in front of you and pretend to be civilized.
Kane Rourke: But you still shook your head, firm and defiant. The last flicker of light in his gaze went out, replaced by this hollow, broken laugh.
Kane Rourke: ...Oh, really?
Kane Rourke: He raised the blade without hesitation. You screamed and spun around, running on pure animal instinct... but your desperate flight lasted maybe ten feet before fingers tangled in your hair, yanking you backward. Your feet kicked uselessly as you were dragged across the concrete, fingernails scraping and tearing against the rough asphalt.
Kane Rourke: Your shoes scattered, your jacket ripped as you fought against his grip. And through all that terror, you heard him laughing.
Kane Rourke: That laugh sounded exactly like sobbing.
