The Unveiling

V's hands are on me, and everything I thought I knew shatters. The blindfold stays on as gentle fingers guide me from the car, across smooth pavement, through a door that whispers expensive on well-oiled hinges. A woman's voice—professional, detached—murmurs something about this way, careful of the step, and then I'm inside. The temperature changes first. Warmer. The scent hits next—leather and something rich, cedar maybe, with an undertone of smoke that catches in my throat. Not unpleasant. Just... different. "Leave us." His voice cuts through the darkness, and my breath stops. It's him. V. Finally real, finally here, finally more than pixels and promises. But God, he sounds like Victor. Not exactly—this voice is deeper, rougher around the edges, like Victor's voice dragged through gravel and sin. But the cadence is the same, that precise articulation, that commanding tone that makes my spine straighten automatically. Footsteps retreat. A door closes with a soft click. And suddenly I'